


Austenland

by imagineagreatadventure



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Austenland AU, Comedy, F/M, Female Friendship, Gen, Humor, References to Jane Austen, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 80,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineagreatadventure/pseuds/imagineagreatadventure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark is rich, bored, and desperate for her own Mr. Darcy - an almost disastrous combination that leads her to buy a trip to Austenland - the resort where you get to practically live as if it was 1814 and find your own Austen happily ever after! When she finally gets her much poorer (and about twice as Austen obsessed) friend Brienne Tarth to agree to go with her, they both find that the land of Jane Austen is not exactly what they expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before Austenland

**Chapter One**

_“Enter our doors as a house guest come to stay... weeks, enjoying the country manners and hospitality – a tea visit, a dance or two, a turn in the park, an unexpected meeting with a certain gentleman, all culminating with a ball and perhaps something more... Here, the Prince Regent still rules a carefree England. No scripts. No written endings. A holiday no one else can offer you.”_

Austenland, Shannon Hale

* * *

**_Sansa - Before Austenland_ **

“You have to go with me.”

It was nearly midnight and Sansa still had not let up after hours and hours after haranguing Brienne  - the older girl just had to go with her!

“I’m not going to _that place_ ,” Brienne said, her voice getting higher. Sansa adjusted her cell phone and put it down on the marble countertop in her bathroom, pressing speakerphone while she did so. Her mud mask was starting to peel off by itself and she didn’t want any pieces getting stuck to her phone. 

“Please, you have to! Jeyne won’t go with me.”

Brienne snorted. “That’s because she, like me, can’t afford it.”

“Well that and she also doesn’t like Jane Austen -“ Sansa said, before turning on the faucet and rubbing the mask out with water.

“How are you two best friends again?” Brienne asked, although she sounded almost garbled. The running water distorted her voice. Still, Sansa scowled. 

“Her and I just appreciate different things that’s all. And, well, Jeyne doesn’t, like, hate _Jane_.”

“Why do you call Jane Austen by her first name?” 

“Why don’t you? Jane Austen is such a mouthful.”

Brienne sighed so deeply that Sansa could hear her even before she turned off the water. _There_ \- her skin looked so much fresher and younger now. 

Not that Sansa needed to look too young. She was only 23.

“Don’t they match you with a boy… man there? I don’t want to deal with that.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “They’ll HAVE to be nice to you Brienne, it’s their job.”

“I don’t want false courtisies,” Brienne said stubbornly. Sansa turned off speaker and brought the phone back to her ear, now that there wasn’t a sticky mask on her face anymore. 

“They won’t be rude!” Sansa argued.

“Not to my face.”

“Ughggggggghh.” Sansa didn’t want to go by herself, it would be so much more fun with a friend. Why did Brienne have to be so difficult about it? “Please, please, please go with me?”

“I couldn’t even go if I wanted to Sansa, I don’t have the kind of money for that.”

“I’ll pay for it!”

“You mean your parents will.” 

Sansa rolled her eyes while simultaneously rolling curlers into her hair. Brienne was so unfair. “Fine, my parents will, but they love you!”

“Not enough to pay that much. And I don’t even know if I could get time off.”

“You work for your father’s company! Of course you could! Especially since you’ve never even taken a sick day after nearly four years of working there.”

“I still have a lot to do -“

“Pleeeeaaasssseeeee,” Sansa begged. 

“No, Sansa.”

“Fine,” Sansa snapped and hung up, immediately regretting doing so.

Quickly she called Brienne back. 

“I’m sorry,” Sansa said, as soon as Brienne answered, “I just know how much you love Jane Austen too and I thought it’d be a lot of fun. I shouldn’t have been rude though.”

Brienne was quiet for a moment and Sansa held her breath until… “I’m still not going,” Brienne said.

“Ugh.”

* * *

When Sansa awoke the next morning, she was still disgruntled. 

All she wanted was to go to Austenland! And while she *could* go by herself, why would she want to? Jane’s books were about female friendship as much as they were about hot guys.

(Sansa particularly had a soft spot for notorious hot guy and bad boy Mr. Henry Crawford. After all, how on earth could Fanny fall in love with Edmund when Henry Crawford existed? Edmund was so dull in comparison!)

When Sansa managed to make her way downstairs, her bare feet shuddering at the cool stone steps, she could hear her mother moving around in the kitchen, only a few feet away.

Sansa’s mother, Catelyn Stark, was a beautiful woman even now with her hair half red and half grey. She would always mutter about dying it, but then Sansa’s father, Ned, would kiss Catelyn (making Sansa’s younger brothers groan) and say that she was beautiful no matter what. Catelyn would frown and roll her eyes, but would kiss Sansa’s father back (making the boys groan again). 

Sansa longed for someone to tell her that she looked beautiful and mean it. Plenty of boys had said it to her before in college, in almost reverent tones, but they said it after she put on globs of makeup, or when they thought they’d get something out of it (they always want _something_ , a voice that sounded remarkably like Brienne said in her head), not when she was feeling down and ugly, or when her eyes were puffy from crying. She wanted someone to say she was beautiful and kind and smart and good. Like her father did for her mother when Catelyn felt stupid or awful or ugly or old. 

She wanted her own hero who would say all the right things. She was a heroine after all! She deserved it.

“Mommmmm,” Sansa droned when she entered, deliberately ignoring the beautiful set of food on display. She could never eat such a hearty breakfast, she wasn’t Rickon or Robb. “Brienne won’t go with me to Austenland.”

“I told you she’d say no,” Catelyn said, frowning at Sansa. “You should ask Shireen, she’d probably go.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. Shireen was a daughter of a distant family friend and she adored Jane Austen as much as the next sensible girl. Sansa and her often bonded over the little witticisms Jane Austen had written hundreds of years before.

But there was one problem. Shireen was only 16.

“You have to be over 18 to go,” Sansa reminded her mother. “Otherwise how will you be properly woo-ed?”

Catelyn peered at Sansa, her tortoise-shell glasses sliding down her nose as she did so. “I don’t know if I like that bit. I’m all about living history, but that seems, well… unseemly.”

“Says the woman speaking as if she’s living in the Regency Era.”

“Sansa,” Catelyn said sternly. 

Sansa could feel her mother about to step into a lecture and so quickly interrupted her, “I’m sorry, I just really wanted to go with Brienne. Out of all my friends, we would have the most fun, I think. No one knows Jane Austen like me, except her, and she knows it even better!”

“Why doesn’t she go then?”

Sansa shrugged, “You know, her and charity. And boys.”

“Ah-ha.” Her mother looked like she was deep in thought. “Well… do you really think she’d enjoy it?”

Sansa perked. That was the tone she loved to hear. Her mother had a plan, “Of course! It’s Jane Austen! Brienne would love it! You remember!”

Catelyn sighed heavily, “Of course I do. She was my student before she was your friend after all.”

“She even wrote that really good paper about Jane Austen and historic feminism or something! Didn’t you say it was the best student paper that you ever read!”

Catelyn sighed again. “I did. And it was about - “

“Oh does it matter what it was technically about?” Sansa asked. “Brienne would love Austenland! Just for the historical experience!”

Catelyn handed Sansa an apple, “Eat something before you get too excited. Why can’t you take your sister again?”

“Arya’s going on tour with her band, you know Hot Pie, Lommy, and Gendry, when I’m going to Austenland. And I don’t think she’d like dressing up in dresses. I think she’d have more fun on a living historical site where she could shoot an old-timey revolver or play with a sword.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Catelyn said, almost sounding disgruntled about it. 

Sansa thought it was funny. “Can’t believe you forgot when Arya was going on tour.”

“Sansa, I have four children and two hangers-on in this house,” she said referring to Jon and Theon. Sansa’s cousin Jon lived in the apartment above the garage while Theon, one of Robb’s friends, lived in the refurbished pool house outside. They both paid rent but it was basically peanuts. “I barely remember to eat.”

“But we’re all adults. Mostly.” After all, Arya had just graduated with dual degrees in electrical engineering and music theory (which was an insane combination to Sansa), Robb was getting married in six months to some pretty girl he met in a club (which annoyed Catelyn and amused Ned), Bran was at college (currently majoring in both accounting and philosophy, another odd mix), and Rickon was in high school (ignoring everyone and everything, instead playing video games with loud noises all the time in his bedroom). Jon was working at the police station and submitting an application to the FBI Academy, Theon was… doing something? No one knew what Theon was up to although Robb said that Theon did some sort of freelance work (whatever that meant). 

And Sansa was, well, Sansa was… _living at home._

“About that…” Catelyn’s eyes narrowed and for a moment Sansa wondered if her mother could read minds. “Are you still enjoying working at your father’s company?”

Sansa shifted around and tried not to look her mother in the eye. She stared at her apple instead because she couldn’t admit that she hated it. She was blessed with a good job in a good industry and her loving, wonderful, just father was her boss! At a time when most of her friends were struggling with paying rent and finding jobs in any fields that weren’t retail or restaurant oriented, she had a good job! 

But, she hated it. 

A lot.

“I love it,” she lied.

Catelyn laughed. “You’re laying it on a bit thick there.”

“Fine, it’s just ok,” Sansa admitted. “But can we get back to the important part of my life? Austenland?”

“And Brienne,” her mother added helpfully.

Sansa smiled. “Yes, now you get it.”

“Oh Sansa, you aren’t trying to fix her, are you? She’s not a pet,” Catelyn admonished.

“Ooh, are you comparing me to Emma?” Sansa beamed. “She gets Mr. Knightley!”

Catelyn buried her head in her hands and groaned. 

* * *

But something about that conversation worked because Brienne called her up less than 24 hours later and confirmed that she was going.

“Your mom made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” Brienne said. Sansa had an inkling that was a quote from something but couldn’t remember what. 

No matter.

“That’s great though! What package -“ Sansa started to ask and then quickly answered the question the same time as Brienne.

“The copper package,” they both chimed, although Sansa’s chime was more like an ancient bell’s groan and Brienne’s sounded more like the tinkling of a cuckoo clock.

“Why didn’t you try for one of the other packages? The next one up surely wasn’t that much more?” 

“This is already a fortune, Sansa,” Brienne said, disapprovingly. “I will not take advantage of your mother’s generosity.”

“Fine,” Sansa said, realizing it was a lost cause. “I’m just glad you’re coming along for the ride.”

Brienne’s voice was so quiet Sansa almost couldn’t hear it, “I really hope I don’t regret it.”

_Me too_ , Sansa suddenly thought, her stomach erupting into tight, twisty knots, almost as tight as the braids her mother wove into her hair.

_Me too._

* * *

 

“Can you tell me about it again?” Brienne pleaded as they sat in the airport together. She sounded so nervous, as if they were about to journey back in time to middle school rather than across the pond.

Sansa loved saying that. She felt so cool. So… sophisticated.

She was about to be a world traveler. 

And almost a time traveler too, if she thought about it.

She exhaled theatrically, “Fine, I’ll explain once more.” Sansa didn’t truly mind at all, but it was kind of amusing how… _desperate_ Brienne seemed to be for reassurance. It was going to be such fun and Brienne instead, well, she looked like she was gearing herself up for a terrible job, not an exciting adventure!

Brienne looked so relieved though. “Thank you.”

Sansa smiled brightly, “No worries! Now Austenland, well, you’ve read the brochure and the booklets by now.”

“I have, multiple times, but honestly, Sansa, there’s not much to go on.”

Sansa ignored the last statement. “So you remember that this is an experience- an immersive Jane Austen experience. Almost like a role-play! Like those games you and Gendry and Arya and whoever else play on Saturday nights. Those tabletops or something.”

Brienne blushed and muttered something like, “Tabletop RPGs.”

Sansa wasn’t listening. “Yeah, those. It’s like that but instead of being a knight or a bard or whatever, you’re a Jane Austen heroine destined for a Jane Austen happy ending! You get to pick your name and everything.”

Sansa had thought about hers for a while. Should she change both her first name and her last name? Or just her last? Oh she just didn’t know! 

Although she did have an interest in the name Jonquil - but would that be too medieval and not Regency Appropriate? 

“But I actually like my name,” Brienne complained, her mouth curling.

Sansa laughed. “You can keep your first name! Just not your last. Anonymity or something - it’s all in the booklets!”

Austenland sent both Brienne and Sansa massive binders full of Regency information. Rules about etiquette, men, historical references, religious references, notes about Jane Austen - Sansa was in heaven while Brienne just grumbled and said she knew all of this already.

Sansa didn’t doubt it. Brienne was **intense** about Jane Austen - not in the way Sansa was, like when she watched all million versions of Pride and Prejudice over a week long period - but in the way that she knew literally everything! And she could argue and write meta and discuss scholarly articles. Catelyn loved Brienne for that because, like nearly every woman who has ever been a girl, she loved Jane Austen. 

And her mother was also a Professor of History so Catelyn and Brienne nitpicked and bonded over certain parts, the parts where some of Austen’s humor hit the nail on the head in terms of what women had to go through.

Sansa appreciated those parts too, of course, Austen wouldn’t be Austen without a dose of her sardonic wit and commentary, but Sansa still loved the romances most of all.

And she would bet her (future) bonnet that both her mother and Brienne did too, as much as they tried to hide it under their words about Jane's ‘captivating humor’ and ‘criticisms of society’. 

Those were all well and good but Sansa wanted Mr. Darcy. 

“The booklets cover the stuff at Austenland? Not just _Regency Appropriate behaviors_?” Brienne said mockingly. Sansa had never heard Brienne mock anything before, she must have really been out-of-sorts.

“Of course!” Sansa said. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“How did you drag me into this again?” Brienne grumbled.

Sansa shrugged, “No idea, honestly. But pay attention! Do you know what you want your name to be or should I choose it?”

“I’ll choose it!” Brienne’s face was red, “Just not right now. I’m not sure yet. But I’m keeping my first name.”

“That’s fine. I still have to pick my name. Have you read your backstory yet? I’m the youngest daughter of a Baron and my dowry and inheritance is nearly as big as Emma Woodhouse’s, if you can believe it! I’m quite a catch, it seems.”

Brienne flicked through her introduction packet, “I don’t see anything.”

“Look in the back,” Sansa instructed. “I almost missed it the first time I saw it.”

Brienne did so and suddenly Sansa could hear nothing but Brienne’s heavy breathing. All the rattling noise about departures and arrivals and babies crying floated away into some non-existent patch of air that hid disturbing sounds like that and instead Brienne’s irritated (because it did sound _quite_ irritated) breathing infiltrated Sansa’s ears.

“Are you… okay, Brienne?” Sansa asked, leaning over the chair’s rail to pat Brienne’s shoulder. “Brienne?”

“I’m an orphan with no reputable relatives and no prospects. Or income. Possibly a bastard of a gentleman.”

_Oh dear._

“Uh…” Sansa said while Brienne seethed beside her, shaking.

“I’m Harriet! Of all people! They made me Harriet! And a bastard of gentleman? A gentleman wouldn’t do this!” Brienne snarled. 

Sansa didn’t know what to do. Was this what happened when people faced a mugger? It was fight or flight right? Wasn’t freeze also a thing? Because if it was, Sansa was totally freezing.

“That’s not that bad,” Sansa tried to reassure Brienne. “She gets that nice farmer.”

“ **A FARMER**.”

This trip wasn’t starting out as magically as Sansa hoped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably shouldn't put this up yet because I have so many other things to work on (including this story) but I couldn't help it! I want to share it with the world. I always have fun writing but I have never had THIS much fun writing before in my life. Something about this combination is just absolutely wonderful.
> 
> However, I cannot promise a timeline for this fic, especially since I have several other fanfics brewing on a timeline. But I'll try to put chapters out as fast as I can!
> 
> I really hope you enjoy the story and that it makes you laugh and smile. This story will (hopefully!) be full of fluff, laughter, and a lot of Jane Austen references although I'll try to keep them as minimal as possible since I know not everyone reads or has read Jane Austen! 
> 
> ANYWAYS, thank you for reading! :)


	2. Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Sansa enter the 1800s.

** Chapter Two **

_Rewind: Brienne’s First Day of Middle School - BJA_  

Brienne had been excited to go to sixth grade. She wore braided pigtails and nice jeans, ones that she had to get from the adults section at the department store because she was already taller than most women. The lady at the store who rung her up said that she could be a model with those legs and Brienne blushed, feeling almost grown-up, while her father smiled indulgently beside her. 

When she was forcibly partnered with a girl in science class in a “Get to Know You” activity that required each student to tell the other about their summer, Brienne offhandedly mentioned the model comment, trying not to seem too eager about the idea. 

The girl had a pinched face and bad breath, but none of that helped when she casually said, “I didn’t know models could be ugly.”

Brienne still heard that whiny, prepubescent voice every time she looked in a mirror.  

* * *

**_ Brienne - Austenland Day One_**

The flight was horrible, bumpy, and with the meanest flight attendant who ever lived — he scowled any time Brienne dared to ask for a cup of water.

Sansa didn’t notice this — she was able to laugh at the flight attendant and sleep through the turbulence.

Brienne was jealous of her pretty friend. The ability to sleep through long flights was an ability she definitely lacked. She was too ready for something to go wrong. She knew the statistics - that she was more likely to get in a car accident than in a plane crash but she could control the car. She typically was the driver and she was good at driving — not one ticket in the decade since she started driving.

However, she couldn’t control the plane - she could only scream if they went down. And Brienne didn’t want to be a helpless screaming damsel when she died. She wanted to fight for her life. 

“Why didn’t you sleep on the flight?” Sansa asked as they gathered their luggage. Sansa didn’t even look ruffled, her red hair artfully arranged in a braided bun. Brienne ran her hands through her own hair although she didn’t have far to go. Her blonde hair was chopped off right below her chin. She used to have it longer but it just started getting in the way. 

“I can’t sleep on airplanes,” Brienne said as she reached over a child to grab her small suitcase. She picked it up and moved aside quickly so she wouldn’t hit the little girl.

And was rewarded with a stare.

_Why did everyone always stare?_  

Sansa already had her matching luggage by her side. “Well, that sucks,” she said cheerfully. “But I’m sure you’ll be able to take a nap when we get there.”

There. At Austenland.

Brienne still regretted agreeing to Professor Stark’s plan. " _Watch Sansa_ ," Professor Stark told her in an email. " _Make sure she doesn’t fall in love with a fantasy. Please go, I’m worried."_

If only there was someone to stop Brienne from falling in love with a fantasy. 

Brienne liked to pretend she was hard, cold, and logical. People liked to pretend that too, they seemed to assume that since she was taller and broader than most men that she somehow became this non-entity, a creature unable to feel real, human feelings. She supposed it didn’t help that she played sports aggressively, didn’t smile much, was anal about rules, and had a difficult time making friends.

Sometimes she was amazed that Sansa even wanted to be friends with her. Or that Arya liked her. Or that the whole Stark clan adopted her and that no one but Theon commented on her looks. Not even Rickon and he was apt to putting his foot in his mouth — Arya liked to say that he didn’t have a filter installed in his brain.

Brienne actually was friends with nearly everyone in the Stark family and even friends with some of their friends! She was friends with Jon and his girlfriend Ygritte, and Robb and his girlfriend Jeyne Dubya (as they all enjoyed calling her - in order to differentiate from Sansa’s longtime best friend Jeyne - it drove poor Robb’s Jeyne insane), and Arya’s… well Arya’s Gendry and her were friends too, playing dumb tabletop games together on Arya’s and Gendry’s free Saturdays when they weren’t playing a gig. 

It was nice. But still she wasn’t sure how much she enjoyed being adopted by a whole family just because their mom loved her. 

And Catelyn only loved her because of Jane Austen.

* * *

Discovering Jane Austen had been the apogee of Brienne’s life. She liked to think her life was divided into two halves - Before Jane Austen and After Jane Austen. BJA and AJA for short. 

She never felt comfortable calling Ms. Austen by just her first name like Sansa and the other… Jane-ites did. Jane Austen was a brilliant author and brilliant authors should not be called by such familiar terms. 

At least not without being introduced first, she had learned that much from the books that defined her life.

And it was hard to be introduced to a dead author.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” Sansa cried out, peering out the fancy, old-fashioned sedan that picked them up. Brienne wasn’t really sure what kind of car it really was - after briefly dating Ronnet Connington, car salesman extraordinaire (as well as _asshole extraordinaire)_ , cars had somehow become even less interesting to her than they were before. And she really had never cared about them.

“We’re just driving by countryside. We have countryside at home,” Brienne reminded Sansa, deliberately being a stubborn ass. It was beautiful, actually, and it even looked a bit different, but Brienne was still so angry that Professor Stark paid for this vacation, probably expecting Brienne to have a good time, and then, in reality, Brienne was going to be _Harriet_.

Brienne had never identified with Harriet, although maybe she should have. They both were on the sidelines of society, typically ignored by everyone. They were also both an awkward mess, falling in love with men they could never have. But truly she had never identified with Harriet — Anne Elliot or Elinor Dashwood, perhaps (maybe even a little Fanny Price although she was loath to admit it), but not Harriet! Never had the thought even crossed her mind while reading or watching _Emma_.

After all, like every girl, she wanted to be Lizzy Bennet. And who would think of being like Harriet when they could be like Lizzy Bennet?

Vibrant, wonderful, Elizabeth Bennet - the woman with eyes so breathtaking that it didn’t matter that Lizzy wasn’t especially beautiful or good like her sister Jane - she was fun and smart and wise beyond her not yet one-and-twenty years. Lizzy Bennet was something all women wanted to be… _for good reason_.

And Mr. Darcy was not that reason. Well, at least not for Brienne.

Brienne wasn’t even sure if she wanted a _Mr. Darcy_. He was fun when he grew out of his pompousness, that was true, and kind and dutiful, all things Brienne admired. But when girls talked about falling in love with Mr. Darcy, well, she sighed heavily. Most of those girls were silly or cruel — more like Lydia or Caroline than Lizzy. The Mr. Darcy she knew wouldn’t want to fall in love with them.

Not that Brienne thought he’d be able to fall in love with her or anything but that was okay — she didn’t want to marry him. 

If she had to pick a Jane Austen character to marry, well, it’d probably be Captain Wentworth — even if he did stubbornly ignore poor Anne Elliot when they were re-introduced. 

Brienne still got angry at him for that every time she read it, even though she had definitely read _Persuasion_ more than a dozen times by now. _Persuasion_ wasn’t even her favorite novel but it was the novel that struck her in her most intimate, secret mind and sometimes she almost hated Jane Austen for it.

Distracted by her thoughts, Brienne almost didn’t notice the driver, who was wearing a costume she might have expected to see on a chauffeur character in an old black-and-white film (a silly hat and everything) open the door. But Sansa tripped over Brienne’s legs in her eagerness to leave the vehicle. 

“Ow!” they both cried out. 

The driver looked bewildered but he quickly grabbed Sansa before she fell over onto the road. 

“Are you all right, Miss?” his accent was distinctly British - of what area, Brienne had no idea, which bothered her. But it sounded like the kind of accents she heard when she watched Downton Abbey, so Northern?

_She was so out of her depth._

Sansa nodded and so he let her go, moving along to the back of the car.

Brienne hopped out after Sansa was properly situated. Her friend’s face was almost as red as her hair while the driver ignored them both and grabbed their luggage out of the back. 

They had not even officially arrived and they were already making fools of themselves. 

Brienne inhaled deeply and gave herself a moment to look around. They were in a driveway that wrapped around itself making it almost look like an upside down lollipop and there was a pretty stone cottage at the end of the drive, not ten feet away from where they were standing, with flowers in the windowsill. Every so often the wind would blow gently and the flowers would move towards Brienne almost as if they were reaching out to her.

She could almost hear the flowers cry, _“Run and get help, this is an asylum for women who’ve never been able to get over Mr. Darcy, run!”_

If only she could run.

But Professor Stark was depending on her to keep an eye on Sansa and so she had to keep it together. She was Sansa’s chaperone (who is Regency Appropriate now, a snotty voice demanded) and would do a good job of making sure Sansa didn’t forget that this wasn’t real. That neither of them would be staying with or bringing home a Mr. Darcy.

“Do we go inside?” Sansa suddenly asked. She had been staring at the cottage too and she looked nervous. 

_Finally Sansa looked nervous_ , Brienne thought. It was exhausting being the only anxious one on a vacation. She had almost forgotten that. It had been years since she had gone on a real vacation. It hadn’t happened since, well, since her older brother drowned. After that, there didn’t seem to be a reason for Brienne and her father to go on vacations any longer.

“The missus should be here in a moment,” the driver said, dropping the bags by their feet. “I suspect she is held up by another client.”

_Client_. Something about that word made Brienne think of sterile white walls and very tall buildings — very unfit imagery for the Regency era.  

“That’s all right, I don’t mind waiting,” Sansa said with a smile blooming on her face. “This is a lovely part of England.”

The driver shrugged as if he disagreed. 

The door opened then and out came one of the fiercest looking elderly woman Brienne had ever seen. She immediately thought: _This is Catherine De Bourgh._

Her white hair was coiffed perfectly under a dark bonnet and she wore a dark purple dress (was her character - or her - coming out of mourning?). She also had one of the straightest backs (corset?) Brienne had ever seen outside of a fashion show. 

“Well, if it isn’t our newest guests,” she clucked at Brienne and Sansa. “I shall be your hostess, Lady Olenna Tyrell. That’s my real name if you were about to ask,” she snapped, although it didn’t feel hurtful as much as surprising. There was too much humor underneath the tone for Brienne to be stung by it and Brienne suddenly wondered if she was actually looking at an elderly Mary Crawford. 

“Have you decided on your own names? Brienne Tarth,” she looked right into Brienne’s blue eyes. “you’re the reason we request measurements. Don’t fret, that’s why we ask,” she said when Brienne blushed. “All your dresses should fit.”

Lady Olenna continued, not waiting for a response from Brienne. “And you, Sansa Stark? You’re fairly tall yourself, you both will look lovely in the dresses though. I think they’re the most flattering on taller women. Every woman should be born tall, I think, although I wasn’t blessed with that sort of height myself.”

Brienne felt even more overwhelmed than before until Lady Olenna demanded they come indoors to rest after their long travels. 

“All the way from the colonies, I hear,” she said, her eyes twinkling. Brienne nodded but was trying to decide if the elderly woman was making fun of them or not. 

“Now, as for Austenland, I assume you read through the booklet? Do you know your characters?”

Both Sansa and Brienne nodded although Sansa spoke, “Brienne’s seems a little….”

“Challenging? Unfortunately that comes with the copper package… unless you’d like to pay more for the next level now? No?” 

“No.”

“Pity, you’ll still have fun, but it is much more fun to be a fashionable lady than a woman who will probably end up as a governess if this was truly regency reality. Fortunately for you, you still get a Guaranteed Austen Happy Ending.”

Brienne frowned, “What does that mean exactly?”

“A proposal of marriage from the man — or rather character — we believe to be your best match at the ball that occurs at the end of your holiday here. Your behavior here and the personality profiles you filled out on our website help determine who that will be — as do the Austen-related questions that we had you answer. Both of yours were quite impressive, I must say, you both know your Jane well.”

Brienne resisted groaning at her usage of the first name Jane. 

“Well, now that that part is settled, what are your names to be?”

“I’d actually like to keep my first name, it’s just easier.” Sansa said decisively, “I’d like to be Miss Sansa Edwards.”

“Quite lovely. After your father, I presume?”

“Sort of,” Sansa admitted although she looked surprised that the other woman knew that. “His is a more unusual spelling.”

Lady Olenna didn’t care. “And you?” she asked Brienne.

Brienne was still drawing a blank. “Miss Brienne…”

“And your surname? Do you need me to come up with one?”

“No, no, I can think of something.”

And she did. “How about Knight?” Brienne asked, thinking of how she used to pretend to be one as a child, saving knights and damsels alike. It also reminded her of one of Jane Austen’s brothers who was adopted by a family called Knight. It seemed appropriate, at any rate.

“Miss Knight? That should do fine,” Lady Olenna sniffed. “Now ladies, would you like to get dressed before going over the rules?”

“Rules?” Sansa asked, “Weren’t those in the packets?”

“Yes, yes, of course, but who reads all of that really?” Lady Olenna asked this without expecting an answer apparently because she kept speaking in that rapid, almost impatient tone of voice. “Now we must not have any modern devices, no cellphones, laptops, mp3 players or whatever else is in now. Next, no _touching_ between men and women, other than dancing and holding onto their arms, you know what I mean, only Regency Appropriate behaviors, so flirt all you like but remember this isn’t a brothel.”

Sansa looked like she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or blush while Brienne just nodded along. She wondered if one of the previous guests had tried to sleep with one of the actors. 

Lady Olenna covered a few more basic rules, but Brienne stopped listening, too distracted by the horrifying idea that an actor and a guest slept together. That just wasn’t appropriate!

Regency or otherwise!

“Now, off to get dressed, my dears. The sooner you get dressed and ready, the faster you’ll set off into the nineteenth century.”

* * *

 

The dress felt _off._   

Perhaps it was because the little breasts Brienne had - and they were so very little - were pressed so far up that it almost looked like she had two small scoops of vanilla ice cream under her dress.

Scowling, she pulled her bonnet farther over her head until she couldn’t see a thing, accidentally tugging at her hair.

They also made her wear hair extensions that barely matched her coloring, but it wouldn’t be Regency Appropriate for her to wear her hair short under her chin, even if they curled it. Or so Miss Roelle said, sniffing all the while.

Miss Roelle was the “maid” who was in charge of dressing the guests when they first arrived.

She cooed over Sansa’s pretty face and hair, dressing Sansa in a fine pale blue gown to bring out her eyes, while Brienne was relegated to a dark pink day dress that looked like it had been worn before - although that was impossible since it was fitted for her.

“Copper package,” Miss Roelle sniffed. Brienne hated the sniff. “But you have nicer dresses to wear for dinner in your boudoir that we’ve set up for you. They should,” she enunciated the _should_ as if she doubted it, “all fit.”

Brienne was impressed by that, at least the Copper Package didn’t allow skimming on fitting even if it skimped on material. She wasn’t wearing beautiful muslin like Sansa but at least her dress hit her ankles.  

“This is so exciting!” Sansa whispered as they sat together in the sitting room. 

Very Regency Appropriate, Brienne thought, surveying the scene with keen eyes. Nothing felt out of place, it was almost as if they were truly in Regency England… but they weren’t.

The cell phone hidden next to her breast proved that much.

She couldn’t bear to be without contact from the outside world — plus Mrs. Stark wanted updates! How else was Brienne going to email her? 

Sansa didn’t know that Brienne snuck her phone in which was probably a good thing. Sansa would probably scold Brienne for ruining the experience — Sansa was all about the experience. 

Lady Olenna, along with Miss Roelle, had already shown them their rooms - Sansa had been gifted with a large, overly ostentatious room with a view of the drive while Brienne was given a tiny room, painted a pretty light blue with several small windows trimmed with white paint that saw out into the gardens. 

“Those gardens are what we are famous for here,” Lady Olenna said, quite stiffly as if she didn’t understand _why._ “That’s why this house is called Highgarden.”

Highgarden was a lovely white stone manor that truly looked as if had been built sometime in the late 1700s - in the 1780s if Brienne had to guess, although it was so well taken care of that it was hard to tell. She almost felt all right, for a moment, with the idea of being there. Perhaps their attendance at this silly experience helped take care of a historical house.

“Now ladies,” Lady Olenna now said to them, trying not to smile too much at Sansa’s exuberance. “You remember who you are, correct?”

“Miss Sansa Edwards, visiting my Mother’s dear friend, you, of course,” Sansa said with a smile. Brienne had a feeling Sansa had an entire secret life dancing in her head.

“And you?” Lady Olenna asked, her gaze moving towards Brienne.

Brienne swallowed. “Miss Brienne Knight, you have taken me in as a courtesy since you believe I have good breeding based on my surname although no one truly knows the circumstances of my birth.”

“Do not mention that in other company though, my dear,” Lady Olenna winked. “Or else you’ll chase off the eligible men.”

Brienne resisted huffing. _Eligible men, indeed._

Or so she thought until the eligible men pounced into the drawing room.

Or rather one pounced, the other held his head up so high it was a wonder it didn’t float, and the last walked in as if he thought the others were ridiculous. 

“All at once, gentlemen?” Lady Olenna said, although she didn’t seem surprised. “My other guest is not yet here.”

“Sorry, Lady Olenna,” the boy who glided said. His British accent was crisp and genuine. He was handsome - they were all handsome Brienne noted with jealousy and embarrassment, feeling as though she was intruding on an artist working on a masterpiece.

“This is my nephew, Mr. Harry Hart,” Lady Olenna said to Sansa and Brienne with a twinkle in her eye that assured Brienne that this sandy haired gentlemen was not Lady Olenna’s nephew in _reality_. “This,” Lady Olenna continued nodding at Brienne, “is Miss Brienne Knight, we are letting her stay with us for the time being. She shows much promise. And, of course,” she said gesturing at Sansa now, “this is Miss Sansa Edwards, the daughter of the Baron, whom you’ve met in town, of course, Harry.”

“Of course,” he said, walking over to Sansa, only sparing Brienne the slightest glance. “I have met your father on several occasions and I must say, you’re much prettier than him.”

**_RED ALERT RED ALERT RED ALERT RED ALERT._** The Mr. Wickham signal in Brienne’s brain whirred, but Brienne didn’t know what to do while Sansa giggled and blushed.

“And of course these other two gentlemen are Mr. Renly Stag,” the dark haired man who nearly skipped into the room beamed at Brienne, “and Mr. Jaime Lyons. He is not as French as he sounds, I assure you,” said Lady Olenna.

“I don’t know,” Mr. Lyons said. His accent was quite... posh. High-class. Rich. Or at least how rich, high-class Englishmen sounded in movies. “I believe we’re not too far gone from all becoming French, the way the war gets on.”

Lady Olenna looked at him sternly. “No talk of war in my parlor,” she announced with a sharp glare.

“Quite right,” Mr. Stag grinned. “There’s no time for war when there is dinner waiting.”

“We are still waiting for my other guest, Miss Walda Grey,” Lady Olenna said, rather impatiently. 

“Ah yes, she’s the daughter of that - uh,” Mr. Stag looked momentarily puzzled as if he forgot who she was before breaking into a brilliant smile, “reputable Colonel. The war hero - he saved regiments from that dastardly Napoleon with his quick-thinking.”

Mr. Lyons snorted, and Brienne shot a look at him. He was handsome, they all were, she knew, but there was something almost Adonis-like about him, with his golden hair and chiseled jaw. He looked more like something out of a fairy tale than out of an Austen novel - even with Jane Austen’s penchant for creating handsome men. There was something unearthly beautiful in his face and it made Brienne uneasy. 

Lady Olenna tutted. “I’d rather the war wasn’t brought up,” she said again, glaring at Mr. Stag, “especially in front of our guests who are here to relax and enjoy themselves.”

Mr. Stag grinned, “Of course.”

Mr. Hart smiled at Sansa and Brienne turned her attention to him. He was very obviously designed for Sansa in mind although something about him didn’t feel real.

Brienne sighed at herself, of course he didn’t feel real - _he wasn’t real._

“And what is the wench sighing about? Shouldn’t you be pleased to have another companion?”

It took Brienne a moment to realize Mr. Lyons’ words were directed at her.

“She is Miss Knight, Mr. Lyons,” Lady Olenna reprimanded. “And don’t mind him, dear, he’s just being wicked.” 

Coming from Lady Olenna’s lips, it almost sounded like being wicked was a compliment. 

Brienne disagreed with Lady Olenna’s usage, but only showed it with a small frown.

“Is she mute?” Mr. Lyons asked Lady Olenna, brushing aside his golden hair with his left hand.

“I am not mute, I just have nothing to say to a man who says such things to a daughter of a gentleman.”

His teeth were sharp and his eyes were sharper and suddenly Brienne regretted speaking at all, suddenly in a war of wits she did not mean to enter. And she wasn’t Lizzy Bennet - she didn’t enjoy wars of wits! “A daughter of a gentleman,” he said with amusement.

Brienne flushed and didn’t have to look down to know that the red spread to her breasts. What a horrible sight she must have looked. It wasn’t even her _real life_ yet she was still so embarrassed. She was a bastard daughter in this universe — barely fit to be in the same room as the rest of them.

“Mr. Lyons,” Mr. Stag interrupted another charming smile on his face. Brienne begrudgingly had to admit that she enjoyed his smiles. They were disarming. “I dare say you’re embarrassing Miss Knight and that just won’t do. Miss Knight,” he stated, granting her a smile. It almost felt like it was created just for her although Brienne knew that was ridiculous, “I must ask you to forgive Mr. Lyons, he is in an ill-tempered mood but I’m sure he’ll be in a better mood after he eats.”

“Roar,” Mr. Lyons said, in a half-assed growl that Brienne supposed was to do with his surname. He looked bored and Brienne wondered if this was an act or if he truly was this big of an asshole.

When no one was looking, as their attention was suddenly distracted by the announcement of Miss Walda Grey, Mr. Lyons had the audacity to wink at her.

He truly was an Asshole, Brienne decided. She wanted to glare at him, but instead tried to focus on Miss Walda Grey, whom Sansa was complimenting at that moment.

“I have heard so much about you from our mutual acquaintances in Bath and you are just as lovely as they said,” Sansa said, her cheeks pink from exhilaration. She was enjoying this made-up world too much.

As was Walda Grey. “Oooh,” she tittered. “Of course! Miss Sansa Edwards, you’re quite well known in Bath. One of the most accomplished ladies of my brother’s acquaintance.”

Sansa blushed at the false praise and Brienne idly wondered what insanity they had entered.

Mr. Lyons got up from his seat, “Miss Grey, it is a privilege to meet you.” He said this in such solemnity, the sort that was reserved for financiers and funeral directors, that Brienne almost forgot he was an Asshole.

“My, my,” Miss Grey beamed, her eyes dancing in delight. Her face was as a round as a child’s and her breasts were nearly falling out of her dress, Brienne noted with discomfort. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, what is your name?”

Lady Olenna coughed, “That is Mr. Lyons and the other young men are Mr. Harry Hart and Mr. Renly Stag. Now, let us get to dinner before Mr. Lyons becomes his surname and eats us all.”

“I’m not sure I would mind that,” Brienne heard Miss Grey mutter after the men and Lady Olenna were out of earshot.

Brienne sighed heavily.

_ That was so not Regency Appropriate. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story won't be released this quickly usually, but I just finished writing a different chapter and so wanted to release this one in order to celebrate. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, I loved writing it.


	3. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tries to embrace the Regency world.

 

**Chapter Three**

_Rewind: Sansa’s First Crush_  

He was so very handsome, with bright eyes and dark, wavy hair. Sansa sighed every time she saw him, wishing he could hold her hand. 

“Honey, stop sliding so close to the TV,” her mother lectured when Sansa subtly tried to give Prince Phillip a kiss as he fought off the dragon, hoping to press her lips against the glass of the TV. “You’ll damage your eyes.” 

* * *

 

** _Sansa - Austenland Day Two_ **

Sansa thought the first dinner of Austenland went fantastic — the gentlemen were exactly as she imagined, handsome and witty, and while Miss Walda Grey was certainly unorthodox (her… knowledge of Regency etiquette was rather limited — Sansa expected that Miss Walda was the type of who only watched the adaptions and read through about half of Pride and Prejudice) she was fun — but Brienne did not agree. 

“Mr. Stag,” Brienne frowned at the name as she picked at her sewing. They were currently learning to embroider. Miss Walda was somewhere, probably wandering off somewhere for a premium package perk and while Sansa knew she could partake, she didn’t want to abandon her friend. Even if Brienne was being a grump. “Well, he was certainly nice enough but Mr. Hart seems like a Henry Crawford or a George Wickham.”

Sansa laughed, “He’s going to ring false, he’s an actor. Of course he doesn’t seem sincere to you!” 

Brienne pursed her lips and for a moment it was as if Sansa had brought her mother to Austenland. “So what about Mr. Lyons?” Sansa asked, twirling her needle around her fingers. She actually already knew how to sew, fairly well too. It was some of these habits that caused conflict between her and her sister when they were younger but now Arya loved wearing Sansa’s sweaters and for Arya’s birthday last year Sansa embroidered the phrase “Kiss My Ass” with swords and flowers entwined. Arya actually hugged Sansa for that present and Arya _never_ hugged Sansa.

“Mr. Lyons,” Brienne said, “is not like any Austen character I have ever read.”

Sansa laughed again, “You make that sound like an insult.”

Brienne clenched her jaw as she struggled with her needle. Brienne’s large hands made it difficult for her to sew the needle was just so tiny in comparison to her fingers. However, Sansa thought Brienne made a valiant effort - the embroidery almost did look like waves lapping upon the sand.

“It is an insult. We’re in Austenland, he should vaguely be like some sort of character. I’m not saying Mr. Darcy or anything. Mr. Knightley even or Mr. Tilney or someone!” 

“I don’t know,” Sansa said thoughtfully. “He might be a little like Mr. Tilney. He does like to tease and flirt.”

“Who was he flirting with?” Brienne demanded.

Sansa snorted. “I’m sorry, you didn’t notice? He was flirting with everyone. Miss Walda was enjoying every subtle insult he threw at her the way most ladies enjoy compliments on their beauty. And he threw you nearly as many comments - he barely paid attention to me.” Sansa wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She didn’t typically like older men so on one hand she didn’t mind too much, as he was QUITE older than her by the look of it. But he was the handsomest man of her acquaintance so perhaps…

Ah well, he was obviously destined for either Brienne or Miss Walda. Sansa wouldn’t fret. She didn’t mind making eyes at Mr. Stag or Mr. Hart, both who were also very handsome. Either of them would do for her Guaranteed Austen Happy Ending. 

“I suspect that’s just his horrendous personality and not the way he flirts,” Brienne sniffed, putting aside her embroidery onto the exquisite table. “I hate sewing, I don’t even know why I try.”

“The ocean you made up looks rather good actually!”

“It was supposed to be a sword.”

“Uh.” Sansa fumbled. 

Brienne sighed and Sansa wondered how many more sighs Brienne would sigh before the end of this trip. 

She hoped it would end soon. Sansa adored Brienne, felt as if the girl was like an older sister, but like all sisters, Brienne was getting sort of annoying. 

She needed to liven up, have some fun! Smile! Even a genuine smile would make Sansa feel better about dragging Brienne to a place that she obviously wasn’t enjoying.

Although why Brienne wasn’t enjoying this was a complete mystery to Sansa.

It seemed to be her cup of tea really. 

“Well,” Sansa said quickly, putting away her own embroidery, “Why don’t we find Miss Walda Grey and ask her about her life?”

“She’s still asleep,” Brienne responded. “She’s taking the regency lifestyle very seriously.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked.

“She's a rich lady in this world,” Brienne reminded Sansa. “Rich women often stayed in bed later than the rest. You could have probably slept another hour.”

“Oh.” Sansa kept this in mind, she liked the idea of sleeping in. It was a nice change from her work hours. Her father demanded she get up at the buttcrack of dawn since they carpooled together. 

“I would get up at the normal time, you know 7 am for commonfolk like me, but you could wait until 9 am, perhaps even 10 am, if you wished.

“9 am sounds wonderful,” Sansa replied, almost imagining laying down upon her pillows. She never got to sleep past 8 am anymore. Carpooling with her father meant she had to be up very early, although she was getting up more at 7 am herself here in England. Her body was adjusting to the time difference weirdly. 

“I’m sure.”

“That being said, we are on vacation, you could get up later too, Brienne,” Sansa said. “And if you ever want to stay in my room with me, you’re welcome to do so. I don’t mind sharing my bed. It’s huge after all.”

Brienne shrugged, “My room isn’t terrible, it’s just… out of the way.”

“Well, if you ever want to be _in the way_ ,” Sansa smirked up at her friend, “Let me know.”

“All right.” 

Sansa’s smirk grew wider. “That’s my bosom friend.”

_“Please don’t call me that.”_

* * *

“Miss Edwards,” the young man beside her demurred. Sansa admired his long, pale lashes before responding, “Yes, Mr. Hart?” 

“You look as if you’re pondering something, might you share it?” 

“I was pondering what our dessert for this evening would be. I am dearly fond of lemon cakes and was hoping that would be on the menu.”

He smiled at her but it felt disingenuous to Sansa. It didn’t bother her too much, she knew he was acting, but it still made her heart plummet. She had told Brienne that the men were actors and that of course it wouldn’t be like this real, _true_ love, they were playing a part.

But why did it feel like her whole entire life was leading up to this vacation and all she got out of it was Mr. Harry Hart? Not that he was bad to look at, in fact he was quite dashing, but it just didn’t feel right. 

“Lemon cakes are delicious, I hear,” he said with his false smile. “But I suppose I prefer desserts with cacao." 

“Aren’t those sorts of desserts expensive?” Sansa asked, vaguely remembering something from a book her mother made her read years before. About trade and Napoleon or something. Sansa barely looked at it. The only interesting chapters were about chocolate and even those put Sansa to sleep.

“Quite right, Miss Edwards,” Mr. Hart’s smile turned a little realer and she almost blushed at the praise. _Almost_. “That makes it all the sweeter, don’t you think?”  

“The rarity of it?” 

His eyes darkened and she suddenly forgot all her worries about his acting, for she couldn’t tell if he was truly attracted to her or not. But before he could respond, the others’ conversation interrupted them.

“I will not play the piano,” Brienne said stiffly to Mr. Lyons, who was smirking at the blonde. They were all in the drawing room together. Mr. Lyons was sitting next to Brienne on the couch. Sansa was fairly sure he was intended for Brienne although Mr. Stag often paid her a lot of attention. Their blonde heads were bowed together over a book although Sansa could see that Brienne was using her broad shoulders to shove him away. 

How was that romance supposed to work if Brienne kept rejecting it? 

Miss Grey was trying to sit on the couch as well, moving her large frame so she could sit next to Mr. Lyons. Mr. Stag was standing by the fireplace watching with amusement. He lookedgenuinely happy. It made Sansa smile. 

“Miss Edwards, did you hear me?” Mr. Hart asked. He sounded like a child who was told they couldn’t have another cookie, Sansa thought. He sounded like Rickon when her younger brother was told that he couldn’t play another hour of some silly video game.

Sansa tried not to roll her eyes and instead continued smiling, “I’m sorry, I was distracted. I believe I should help Miss -“ Sansa blanked at Brienne’s false last name. 

Mr. Hart rescued her, “Miss Knight?”

Sansa granted him a genuine smile, “Yes, Miss Knight. Now, please excuse me, Mr. Hart. I must save my friend.”

But before Sansa could get up from her chair, Mr. Stag saved the day with a charming grin.

“Now, Mr. Lyons, I must say that if Miss Knight isn’t willing to play the piano, perhaps our lovely Miss Grey would like to?” 

Sansa could only see the back of Miss Grey’s head, but she could see it bobbing viciously. “Oooh, yes! I’d love to do that. I know the best songs.”

Mr. Stag reached out and grabbed Miss Grey’s hands and guided her to the pianoforte. Brienne shot up from her seat like a firework on the Fourth of July to stand beside Mr. Stag. He, Sansa was amused to notice, winked at Brienne and even more astonishingly… Brienne blushed in response. 

Mr. Lyons didn’t seem to be put out by everyone leaving his side, instead he stretched out on the couch like a cat in the sun. She couldn’t watch him too much longer, Mr. Hart had gotten up to guide her to the piano. 

“Let us listen to Miss Grey,” Mr. Hart said and so she acquiesced.

Miss Grey started playing as they crossed the room and it was only as soon as Lady Olenna walked into the room that Sansa recognized the tune. 

It was actually a Regency Appropriate song — it was Bach, something Sansa had not heard since she attended one of Arya’s concerts in high school, when she was forced to play classical music. Arya detested it and Sansa had made fun of her for it until Arya punched her in the arm and then Sansa tackled her in the backseat, the fighting only stopping when Robb kicked them out of his car. Instead poor Gendry ended up giving them a ride home.

Sansa imagined that her actions on that day were not exactly Regency Appropriate. 

Lady Olenna’s eyes darted upon the scene as Miss Grey played, almost as if she was looking for an imperfection. To the misfortune of Mr. Lyons, she found one when she saw him lazing on the couch. “Mr. Lyons,” she said interrupting the music. “Sit up straight.”

Mr. Lyons groaned in response and Sansa suddenly had a wild urge to giggle. Miss Grey and Mr. Stag did actually laugh, the music suddenly stopping, while both Mr. Hart and Brienne had disgusted looks on their faces. Neither of their looks looked fake.  

Sansa wasn’t surprised by Brienne’s expression, but was a little shocked by Mr. Hart’s. She wondered if all the actors got along all right. It suddenly struck her that like every job there would have to be people that you didn’t like working with you. Sansa thought of some of her own coworkers and grimaced.  

God, she really needed a new job. One that didn’t have coworkers who screeched “Nepotism!” any time Sansa visited her father’s office on her lunch break. 

“Why the long face, Miss Edwards?” Lady Olenna asked but it felt more like a criticism than a question. She was examining Sansa closely and Sansa squirmed. “You are not in a funeral parlor. At least not yet,” Lady Olenna commented, her gaze directed at Mr. Lyons who _still_ wasn’t sitting up straight. He sat up a little straighter then, but was still lying on the couch like a lazy lion.

Sansa felt very peculiar. How much of this was his character and how much of this was him? Was he his character? She suddenly was dying to use her phone and call Jeyne and talk to her about all of this, wishing she had the phone buried in her dress instead of hiding underneath her clothes in her luggage. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Sansa found herself saying, “I think I need some air.” She gave them all a small curtsy, ignoring the worried look in Brienne’s eyes and went out of the room as fast as her dress would allow. She could hear Mr. Hart calling after her and hurried faster until she was out the main entryway and into the sunlight. 

She suddenly understood why Lizzy Bennet took so many walks. 

It was so freeing to be outside! So much better than being inside in the parlor stuck talking to men who were obviously bored by your presence, almost as much as you were bored by theirs. But now the world felt open — she could almost imagine that it was 1814. That if she walked down the road a mile or two that she’d see another manor house with a family inside. She’d visit them for a short while, inquiring after their health and well-being. Perhaps the eldest son would be strong and handsome and kind, and ask her to sing for them all, perhaps —

Sansa fell over before she could finish her thought. Scrambling on the ground like a child on a playground, she picked herself up, as well as the boy who lay beneath her. Not Regency Appropriate, her inner voice chided but Sansa just smiled at the poor boy. 

“Are you all right? I’m sorry that I didn’t see you, I wasn’t really paying attention,” Sansa apologized, brushing off dirt where she could see it. The muslin looked quite ruined. 

“I’m fine, Miss, are you okay?” the boy — no, young man, Sansa decided as upon closer acquaintance he seemed to be about her age, asked. She liked the sound of his voice. He spoke quite slowly and deliberately, his (Scottish?) accent melting his words. It was… comforting. 

Sansa waved him off. “I’m no worse for the wear.” He nodded and started walking away from her. “Wait, where you are going?”

He looked very confused. “I-I uh, uhm.” 

“Well, wherever you’re going, let me go with you,” Sansa said, in a way that wasn’t really a question. “I’m quite bored being by myself, I’d like some company.”

“But, the rules — “

“A man and woman can be together if in motion,” Sansa quoted from the Regency rulebook she had been given. It sounded almost dirty if she thought about it.

The young man shook his head, “No, Miss —“

“Star— Edwards.” Sansa corrected, blushing at her almost-mistake, “Miss Edwards.”

He smiled shyly as if sensing her mistake, “Well, Miss Edwards, I’m a servant. You’re not supposed to interact with us unless… well, I would know if you were.” 

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Oh come on… whats-your-name, I’m going on a walk no matter what, I’d just like some company. Perhaps you can tell me about the house?”

The young man still looked fairly unsure, but she looped her arm into his, “Come and show me, Highgarden, good sir.”

He bowed his head, “As you say, Miss Edwards.”

“Sansa Edwards,” she suddenly felt the need to add. It felt very important that he should know her first name. “What is your name?”

“Podrick.”

“Podrick what?”

He smiled although it was unsteady, as if he was standing on quicksand. “You can just call me Pod.” 

“Fine, Pod,” Sansa said, realizing she was fighting a losing battle. “Tell me where we are going.”

“Well, I was going to muck out the stables…” he trailed off as if waiting for a poor reaction.

She didn’t have one. “Oh, my Father used to make me do that. He said that’d be the only way I was allowed to have horseback riding lessons. I didn’t even like horseback riding that much so after about a few months of that nonsense, I finally quit. My sister didn’t though. She adored it. She only quit when it started interfering with her music.”

“Is she a talented player then?” Pod asked. Sansa liked that he didn’t interrupt her, he only spoke when necessary. And even though he was obviously trying to play as if it was 1814, it didn’t feel fake as it had in the drawing room with the gentlemen. It felt real. 

“Very talented,” Sansa’s lips quivered and she tried not to laugh. “Enough that she has been employed as a musician with some very esteemed families all over Europe.” That was one way of saying that Arya was on tour with her band right?

“Dangerous for a young lady,” he noted, although he looked like he wanted to smile. 

Thinking of Arya’s friend Gendry and his muscular arms, Sansa said, “Well, she has protection of sorts. And I would never want to cross her, anyhow. Only a foolish person would do something as stupid as that. She’s something else, really.” 

He didn’t say anything in response and Sansa sighed. “I do miss her, but she is not a fan of the country. She much prefers town.”

“Oh?” 

That wasn’t true in the least really, Arya was much more at home in the wild or the woods than “country” or “town” so Sansa felt the need to amend. “She only prefers our home in the country — she doesn’t like visiting other large, grand houses if that makes sense. The wild moors and the like are truly more her preference than anything else, but she does well in town and is happy there.” 

He nodded as if he understood and Sansa felt reassured. “She likes being at home.”

“Exactly.”

They didn’t speak again until they reached the stables. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Edwards, I have to work now.” Pod let her go and she felt oddly annoyed. 

“All right,” was all she said, feeling too shy to say anything more, as if his own shyness was catching. “I hope to see you again, Pod.”

His smile was surprised but Sansa liked that his eyes crinkled. “I would like that too, Miss Edwards.”

Pleased, Sansa left Pod and headed back to Highgarden by herself, thinking that perhaps the trip could truly indeed be as wonderful as she hoped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is so much fun to write and I hope you guys are having just as much fun reading it!


	4. Day Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's daydreams are dashed.

** Chapter 4 **

_ Rewind: Brienne’s First Romantic Rejection AJA _

After Brienne read Pride and Prejudice for the first time, finding an old copy of her mother’s buried in her father’s library (right in between an old Readers Digest and a Mrs. Fields cookie cookbook) Brienne felt empowered.

Almost as if she could catch her own Mr. Darcy the way her father caught fish off the coast. And so, forgetting that she wasn’t Lizzy Bennet (that she wasn’t as witty, wasn’t as kind, wasn’t as wonderful), Brienne asked out the boy she liked. He was a cute boy with green eyes and sandy hair - and he had always been nice to her. So, being a 12 year old girl, all of this kindness and cuteness meant that she had fallen in love with him.  

Until he broke her heart.

He sneered at her and laughed when she confessed her feelings and his terrible friends joined in, calling her names and being cruel. It was only then that Brienne remembered very clearly that she WAS NOT Lizzy Bennet and so hid inside herself for the rest of her school career.

But that was also the day that Brienne forgot that even _Miss Elizabeth Bennet_ had been rejected.

* * *

**_Brienne - Austenland Day 3_ **

Sansa was worrying Brienne — her friend was far too happy, dancing, singing, laughing. Ever since Sansa came back from her lonesome jaunt across the yard, the younger girl looked almost as if she was just a little too thrilled to be here, which was odd, since Sansa was currently ignoring all of Harry Hart’s approaches. Sansa’s dress had been covered in grass and mud stains and Brienne felt sorry for the maid who had to clean it although Sansa didn’t seem to mind that, she was smiling too brightly to mind anything.  

Although, Mr. Hart seemed almost as disconcerted as Brienne about Sansa’s smiles. He was starting to look almost annoyed that Sansa was ignoring him… yet at the same time, very intrigued. Brienne personally felt that the look of intrigue was _very bad news_ , but what could she say that she hadn’t already said?

Mr. Hart, at least, wasn’t as annoying or terrible as Mr. Jaime Lyons who strutted around Highgarden as if he was his surname, lazing about like a lion at the zoo. He charmed Miss Grey, who sat by him every night at dinner, leaving Brienne to stare at his face across from him. He had a stupidly handsome one that knew all too well that he was beautiful. Mr. Lyons smirked at Brienne openly although no one seemed to notice the cruelty under his looks but Brienne. She always glared back which only seemed to goad his facial expressions on, as he almost laughed the night before. Brienne desperately wanted to kick him under the table but somehow avoided doing so, instead staring very deliberately at her potato leek soup. 

Brienne had a feeling that by the end of the week, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from kicking him under the table.

Mr. Renly Stag was the only one of the actors that Brienne liked and she supposed this was because he was scripted for her. She couldn’t say this for sure, but she hoped he was, in any case. He was handsome and charming and they got along well enough that Brienne had started to relax around him. 

And, as annoying and embarrassing as it was to admit, she had a small crush on him. She knew Mr. Stag was an actor, that it obviously wasn’t even his true name, _she knew it wasn’t real,_ but he made her almost forget what she was to everyone — a large, lumbering, hulking _thing_. 

He was just so kind and genuine to her. Brienne had a good eye for this now, after all the bets and cruel jokes that had landed her way, she now felt as if she had a good eye to spot the worst kind of man. She was like Lizzy Bennet in that way, at least, if in no other way. Able to see the worst in people before they could harm her. She could spy the Caroline Bingleys a mile away and so, thankfully, was able to avoid some terrible human beings.

She just hoped she wasn’t accidentally opening her heart to a Mr. Wickham. 

“Miss Knight!” Jaime Lyons tromped down to her as she walked alongside the park, looking almost like a small, excited child with a smile that bloomed across his face. It was almost endearing if she didn’t recall that he only looked like that when he decided to grace her presence with his terrible commentary and teasing. 

“Have you heard that there is another young lady joining us?” He asked when he reached her. “She is coming tomorrow.”

Brienne counted the men in her head and counted the ladies. “But…” 

“That will leave us a bit empty-handed? I’m sure we’ll take turns.” 

How he made the simplest of statements sound so dirty drove Brienne crazy. “Be serious, sir.”

“I am serious. The most serious of serious, aren’t I, Mr. Stag?” Mr. Lyons called behind him. 

Mr. Stag joined them with a smile, his long legs easily catching up with them. Neither man was as tall as Brienne but she didn’t feel as unwieldy as she did amongst other males. “About as serious as me, Mr. Lyons,” Mr. Stag joked. 

“Both of your names are quite animalistic. I just noticed,” Brienne said. Suddenly embarrassed by her comment, her embarrassment aided by the incredulous look on Mr. Lyons’ face, she continued the early train of thought, “Who is the lady?”

“The granddaughter of our esteemed Lady Olenna!” Mr. Stag announced, grinning. 

“Truly?”

Mr. Lyons rolled his eyes, “More related to her than Mr. Hart is. Mr. Hart is uh,” He stopped and fumbled, “erm related through Lady Olenna’s husband.”

Mr. Stag continued as if he wasn’t listening to Mr. Lyon’s ramblings. “You shall see the resemblance of Lady Olenna and Miss Tyrell very easily. There are portraits of Lady Olenna from her younger days and the two almost look like twins.”

“Yes, portraits…” Mr. Lyons said dramatically, throwing back his head. “Made by a Mr. Kodak.”

Brienne almost choked from the laughter that was begging to be released from her chest but caught herself. Instead, she decidedly glared at him as if to show her disapproval of breaking the Regency scene. 

Mr. Lyons, infuriatingly, winked. 

He probably caught her almost-laugh, Brienne realized with horror. He probably thought she actually liked him or found him humorous. Well, she had to prove him wrong. 

“Mr. Stag, could you show me the gardens? They look lovely and I haven’t had a chance to see them yet.”

“Why certainly, Miss Knight, it would be my pleasure.”

“Am I not allowed to come?” Mr. Lyons drawled.

“I believe Miss Grey needs a walking companion,” Mr. Stag pointed out. Miss Grey was sitting on the grassy hillside looking rather bored. Her poor dress was all Brienne could think of — how was it that it was Sansa and Walda who were the ones ruining their dresses? Shouldn’t it be her? Brienne was the mannish one. Walda may have been plump or “plus-sized” as the euphemism went, but she was certainly very womanly and very pretty, while Brienne was still very ugly and very unfeminine. 

She tried not to think of her face as she walked along with Mr. Stag, listening to Mr. Stag’s chattering and ignoring the stares Mr. Lyons aimed at their backs. 

* * *

Mr. Stag had enraptured her with kind praises and a kiss on the hand as they walked through the gardens arm-in-arm and before she had realized it Brienne had fallen half in love with a fantasy.

“Damn it,” she cursed as she dug through her closet.His smiles couldn’t have been real… could they?

And ugh, why were all her dresses so boring and plain! Even the dinner dresses made her look even drabber than she was already. 

Damn copper package.

“Miss Knight?” someone called through the door. It sounded like Miss Roelle. 

Brienne tried not to groan. Miss Roelle would only make her feel worse. 

“Don’t come in!” Brienne called, wishing that her stupid door had a stupid lock because, of course, Miss Roelle barged in.

“Why not?” she demanded. 

“I’m not decent,” Brienne demurred, feeling stupid. 

Miss Roelle looked like she would have snorted if she wasn’t so dead set against snorting. After all, snorting wasn’t ladylike. “That is my job. You know this by now it’s your third day.”

“I was hoping to do it myself.”

Miss Roelle sneered. “You can’t tie a corset by yourself.”

“I could if it was front-laced,” Brienne pointed out. She felt as if she was being reasonable but Miss Roelle did not like her tone and instead started lecturing her and lacing her up and down and suddenly Brienne was in another horrid dress.

At least it was nicer than usual - it was made out of actual lightweight silk. 

Even if it was… pink.

When she was finally finished being tightened and squished into a dress to the point that it almost looked like Brienne had a waist, Brienne made her way to the parlor. 

Where she only found Mr. Lyons awaiting her. He was standing by the fireplace, reading a book. He almost looked like he belonged in a film adaption of some Jane Austen novel. 

How could anyone be that handsome?

He didn’t look up when she walked in, although a smile appeared on his lips. “You’re quite late, you know.”

“Excuse me?”

“Everyone else has gone to the dining room. I - “ At this he sighed heavily and slammed his book shut, his eyes widening mournfully, “I sacrificed myself to wait for you.”

Oh God, was he her intended partner? What on Earth did she say on the personality profiles that doomed her to this? “Well, you didn’t need to do that,” Brienne said hastily. 

“Oh I did, your dear Miss Edwards insisted upon someone waiting and Lady Olenna was not allowing Miss Edwards wait by herself.”

“So you’re here.”

“Yes, now… may we go or do you have to pretty yourself up more?”

Brienne flushed. “It’s not my fault.”

Mr. Lyons moved past her, “I have to say, Miss Knight, that I do not really care whose fault it is. I’m just very, very hungry.”

She watched him leave and counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

Her anger levels lowering, she followed him into the dining room where everyone awaited her. 

“Good, you’ve finally joined us, Miss Knight,” Lady Olenna said. “Now I can allow the meal to actually start.”

“I’m sorry,” Brienne apologized, making her way to one of the open seats beside Mr. Hart. He barely spared her a glance. 

She did not like him.

Mr. Stag sat across from her and smiled cheerily. “It’s not a worry, Miss Knight, I don’t believe any of us minded waiting.”

Mr. Lyons sat on Brienne’s other side and she could see him roll his eyes. She wanted to snap at him but instead said nothing, moodily glaring at her soup. 

She grabbed a spoon and sipped it. 

It was cold.

“Sorry dear, but we had to get started on the courses,” Lady Olenna explained. 

“It’s all right,” Brienne sighed. Sansa, who was sitting across from Mr. Hart spoke next.

“You should like the next course, Bri- Miss Knight. It’s your favorite.”

Brienne doubted that Thai food was up next so wasn’t surprised when it was roasted pig instead of chok. She ate it with gusto though, despite the falsehood. She almost felt like she hadn’t eaten anything in days. 

“Slow down, wench,” Mr. Lyons said to her in a quiet whisper. “You don’t want to end up like the pig you’re eating.”

The delicious, succulent meat that she had been enjoying now tasted almost like cigarette ashes. 

Why was she the target of his mockery?

Everyone else was talking and smiling, looking as if they belonged in this time and this place. Beautiful people with witty conversation and gossip and - it didn’t matter. Brienne was out of place. Too modern, too ugly, too herself — there was no Brienne Tarth in Jane Austen’s world. She didn’t belong here… or anywhere. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I… I have to go,” she murmured to Lady Olenna, who raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Are you feeling unwell, Miss Knight?”

Brienne nodded. “Yes, so if I may go rest in my room...”

“Please do. And if you’re still feeling unwell, we’ll send for a doctor in the morning.”

Brienne smiled. Lady Olenna seemed serious about that, almost concerned even, and Brienne appreciated it. “I will let you know, thank you for the offer.”

The gentlemen got up as she did, although only Mr. Stag did so with any sort of enthusiasm. Mr. Hart sat back down readily and tried to engage Sansa in conversation as soon as he sat down. Sansa, however,was still looking at Brienne with worry.

Mr. Lyons was not eager to stand up, but he also didn’t look eager to sit down as she went, although Brienne had no idea why.

She doubted he regretted his words to her. He didn’t seem the type to regret anything.

Unable to bear going back to her room, where nothing but insomnia awaited her, Brienne headed outdoors using the front entrance. It was dark but the stars were bright in the sky. They were far enough from London or a suburb that it was easy enough to make out constellations. It reminded Brienne of home… of her father. 

She sighed. Her father had been amused when she told him what she was doing for a vacation, but didn’t make any jokes at her expense, just telling her to have a good time as he did whenever she went anywhere. 

This wasn’t exactly how Brienne thought a good time was supposed to go.

“Miss uhh…” a man tapped her on the shoulder. Brienne turned around and looked right into the eyes of the man who drove them to Austenland. He grinned shamelessly at her, “Sorry, there, forgot your name.”

“It’s just Brienne,” Brienne said, unable to deal with being called Miss Knight any longer. She wasn’t a Knight.

“Well, what are you doing? Aren’t you supposed to be eating with your adoring menfolk inside?”

Brienne snorted and sat on the steps of Highgarden. The marble steps were hard on her bottom, but she didn’t really care for comfort anymore. She couldn’t truly be comfortable wearing a corset anyhow. The man joined her on the steps and she examined him more carefully than she had before. 

He wasn’t wearing a drivers uniform any longer but he was wearing some other sort of servants garb that was Regency Appropriate. He wasn’t handsome, not like everyone else inside the house, but there was something almost pleasing about him all the same. Perhaps it was that he felt real. Nothing about him stood out, he had brown hair and dark eyes, and he was about the same height as Sansa if she had to guess. The only thing notable about him was a scar. 

“Sorry, I’m not very good at acting,” he said to her with a smirk. “So I’m not going to call you Miss Whatever. I’ll go by Brienne.”

“That’s why I said it.”

He laughed and Brienne liked it. “My name’s Hyle. I’m a uh, steward I guess the word is, here. I’m fairly new. All I know really is that I’m not supposed to talk to the guests.” His smile grew wider. “Oops.”

Brienne smiled in return. “All right, Hyle.”

“So what are you doing outside instead of in there?”

“I, well.” She felt silly. “It was getting stuffy,” she finished lamely. 

Hyle looked at her with consideration. “Probably the corset,” he surmised. “I can’t imagine that’s comfortable.”

Brienne didn’t know whether to be offended that he was spoke so freely or grin.“Possibly,” she hedged.

“Or you know the company. Those guys, man, very full of themselves aren’t they? Bunch of stuffed peacocks.”

Brienne did laugh then, although she felt guilty about it. Mr. Stag was kind to her after all and they were just doing their jobs. Even Mr. Hart and Mr. Lyons.

“Anyways,” Hyle got up and stretched. “I should probably go back to my little cottage. And you should probably go wherever they expect you to be. It’s late. So goodnight, Miss Brienne.”

“Good night,” she murmured, watching him flounce down the stairs. She wondered when he was going to be fired. He didn’t use the servant’s entrance, he talked shit about the actors, and he spoke to her — a guest.

She hoped they wouldn’t fire him. It was the best conversation she had since she arrived here. But she didn’t have time to think about it too long, she felt as if any moment she’d be caught sitting on the steps and for some reason it didn’t seem as if any of this was very Regency Appropriate of her. 

Probably because it wasn’t.

Brienne went back inside and hurried down the hall. It was dark now, with fake candlelight illuminating the hall. She couldn’t hear the titter of voices any longer and suspected that everyone had gone to bed early. Or that she had been outside longer than she thought and everyone had finished their after-dinner activities already. 

She turned left and cursed. It was so hard to recognize anything in the dark. She couldn’t remember which way she had to go to get back to her room. How could a house be a maze? Wasn’t there already a maze in the garden?

With unease streaming through her, she carefully looked around, following the hallway as long as she could, going up one flight of stairs, and another. The second door on the left looked like hers but so did the third. Why couldn’t she remember which one was hers?

She pulled at the one closest to her and was blinded by very Regency Inappropriate behavior. 

“I’m so sorry!” she squawked, slamming the door quickly. It was only after she dashed away from the door, too afraid to try the other in fear of what she would discover that she realized what she saw. 

Was that Mr. Stag and -

Well… the other man wasn’t wearing Regency clothes so Brienne wasn’t sure who he was, but oh god, she had walked in on Mr. Stag _doing it_.

Brienne’s heart developed another layer of armor.

There went the theory that his kindness and courtesy might’ve been real, she thought sourly. Brienne knew it was unfair of her, but she had hoped… 

She stopped herself from finishing the thought. She needed to stop hoping, at least in regards men. Especially ones who were actors and paid to charm her. 

He was kind in real life, probably. He may have even liked her. But it didn’t matter. None of it was real and she had to keep reminding herself of this. 

Because no one else was going to.

Hyle’s face floated in front of her, smirking and smiling at her. 

Well, maybe one person would remind her… 

“Brienne?”

Brienne looked and expected to find Sansa, but instead saw Mr. Lyons standing in the hall. He looked disoriented as if he had just woken up. 

Although he was still wearing his Regency clothes so that obviously wasn’t right. “Why are you in this wing of the house?” he asked her, looking almost concerned for her. “Are you lost?”

He reached his hand to try to grab hers but she backed away. “I’m fine,” she snapped, her pride still sore from walking in on Mr. Stag.

“Then why are you here, Brienne?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Stop calling me by such familiar terms, sir,” she admonished, trying not to look him in the eyes. Brienne had a feeling that if she did so, he’d somehow know everything. That she was lost, that she accidentally saw two people having sex, that she didn’t want to be here anymore. That she never really wanted to come in the first place.

Mr. Lyons held his hands up, “Fine, _Miss Knight_.” He spat her name out the way a child spat out medicine. “But do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

Brienne stared at him, trying not to admire the way the long shadows highlighted his high cheekbones and how his golden hair glowed in the fake candlelight. “No,” she confessed. “But I’m figuring it out.”

He watched her before sighing. “Just turn back around, go right and then left and you’ll be back in your area. You should recognize it.” Brienne nodded at him and turned to do what he said when he spoke again. “And knock on a door before you open it, for Christ’s sake.”

Brienne froze. _How did he know?_

But when she turned around to confront him, Mr. Lyons was already gone. 


	5. Day Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa eavesdrops.

** Chapter Five **

_ Rewind: Boyfriend Number Three - Sansa _

Sansa was twelve when her third boyfriend came into her life. Her other boyfriends barely counted — the first showed up when she was five. They had only kissed twice and most of the times they just traded lunchables. They broke up when he moved away from town around Christmas. 

Her second boyfriend had been in fourth grade and the only thing he did was pull on her hair which had excited Sansa for about two seconds until she realized he was, in fact, quite boring and dumb.

But the third boyfriend, oh, he was smart, he was pretty, he was kind! He rode a bike all by himself to school every day, he didn’t have someone dropping him off, which made him about ten times cooler than anyone else. He was everything she imagined a boyfriend was supposed to be!

Until he told everyone that she, uh, did some things she DEFINITELY did not do. She had barely kissed him, and she had only done _that_ twice, but no one at school believed her, calling her awful names and saying awful things.

She cried and cried and CRIED until Arya came up to Sansa’s room. Arya’s smile was big and evil as she dumped the pieces of Boyfriend Number Three’s bike onto Sansa’s bed. 

Sansa had never loved her little sister more. 

* * *

**_ Sansa - Austenland Day 4 _ **

 “Shh.”

“What are you doing?” Brienne asked in a whisper. The two of them were huddled in a corner by the study that was in actuality Lady Olenna’s office. Sansa discovered it while walking around earlier that morning and decided to take a detour when she had Brienne with her in the afternoon. It was just an interesting area, with lots of art hanging on the walls and large windows that let in a lot of sunlight, and, of course, _secret conversations about the way Austenland worked._  

Sansa shot Brienne a silent glare and Brienne got the hint. Brienne stayed crouched although by the way Brienne pursed her lips, Sansa knew that her friend wasn’t pleased with this turn of events.  

But that didn’t matter. What did matter was that Lady Olenna and Mr. Lyons were talking and it sounded VERY interesting. 

“You need to stop acting like an ass. It is fun at first but if you’re to court your girl properly, well…” Lady Olenna’s voice carried and Sansa smiled. This was the best sort of dirt. 

“She seems to enjoy it,” Mr. Lyons said. “What in hell’s name is this?” Something clacked against a wall and Sansa imagined that Mr. Lyons was rapping his knuckles against a piece of art.

“A miniature. Now stop avoiding the conversation. Like you’ve been avoiding — “

“I haven’t avoided anyone.”

Lady Olenna wasn’t having it. “Jaime,” she said, using his first name. Sansa almost jumped. “Your father said that you needed something to do.”

Mr. Lyons ignored the comment. “Don’t pretend we both don’t know the real reason I’m here.”

To Sansa’s surprise Lady Olenna laughed. “It’s not my fault your father is terrible at cards.”

Brienne’s face was complicated to say the least. Sansa wanted to ask her what she was thinking, but had to keep quiet to hear Mr. Lyons’ next words. 

“But it is your fault that you bet him, well, me,” Mr. Lyons said dryly. 

That was different.

Lady Olenna cackled. “Well, you weren’t doing anything after your disastrous experience in the military. Might as well take a break from reality.”

Sansa could hear a scoff and presumed it belonged to Mr. Lyons. “Maybe not but that doesn’t give either of you a right to order me around here. I’m a person and you’re not paying me enough for that.”

Lady Olenna laughed again, this time it was much softer. “If you didn’t want to be here really, you wouldn’t be. Now, sir, you may take your leave of me.”

Sansa panicked and grabbed Brienne’s arms and skedaddled the heck out of the hall, running as quietly as she possibly could before Mr. Lyons could spot them. 

“Sansa, why were we eavesdropping?” Brienne demanded once they had reached another room. “Did you take me there on purpose?”

“I don’t know, it just seemed like a good idea?” Sansa lied, deliberately avoiding the second question. Brienne gave her a look of disbelief. “Well, I’ll think of a better excuse later. Still, it was interesting, wasn’t it?”

“Breaking the experience? Sure, interesting, anyway weren’t you all about the Austen experience?” Brienne demanded.

“Um.” That was an interesting question and Sansa wasn’t sure if she could answer it. 

Brienne shook her head, “Why are we even here, Sansa?”

“Because it’s fun!” Sansa smiled. “You seem to enjoy the food at least!”

“You make me sound like an animal. But seriously, why are you so intent on, well doing things like this?”

“I kind of like seeing the behind the scenes action! It’s like taking a peek and seeing how a magician works his tricks.”

“But I thought we were here to pretend it was 1814 or whatever.” Although her words were harsh, Brienne’s tone was steady, as if she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to pretend that anymore.

“We are! But sometimes it gets dull. There’s no use in pretending it doesn’t. No wonder Jane Austen was able to write so much, there was nothing else to do.”

“I could have told you that before your family spent thousands of dollars sending us here.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, “Stop being so dramatic. We should go find Miss Walda and see what she’s up to.”

“Well, _she’s_ probably being Regency Appropriate,” Brienne grumbled.

Sansa laughed, thinking of some of Miss Walda’s more risqué comments. “You know that’s not true.”

Brienne exhaled heavily, as if remembering this morning’s breakfast where Miss Walda quoted a certain limerick that started with a man from Nantucket, “Yeah… I know.”

* * *

Miss Walda Grey certainly wasn’t being Regency Appropriate when they found her in her room.

Wearing hot curlers, a green face mask, and a Regency day dress, Miss Walda Grey was a sight to behold. 

“Oh hi you guys,” she said, “I’m glad you’re here, I think that Renly guy is on TV.”

“Mr. Stag, you mean?” Brienne asked, her face a bright red for some reason. Sansa wondered if Brienne, well, _LIKED_ him.  

Hm. Sansa wasn’t sure if she was about that ship. But perhaps he was written for her or something. He was very nice to Brienne in any case, which was more than what Sansa could say for the other gentlemen. Or men in general. 

Poor Brienne.

“Yeah, it’s some movie with like Helena Bonham Carter or something. He’s had like one line, but boy, did he deliver it well!” 

“Why do you have a TV in your room?” Brienne asked, sounding almost affronted. Sansa wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or horror that drove Brienne’s question. 

“I have the ultimate package which means I get to have modern delights or whatever Lady Olenna likes to call them. Just like in the morning and before bed, but nothing is happening right now so I’m sneaking in a movie.”

Sansa plopped on Miss Walda’s bed, enjoying the way the plump coverlet enveloped her. “Do you know if Lady Olenna’s granddaughter is here yet? I bet that would liven things up.”

Miss Walda beamed, “I saw her coming up in the carriage, I bet she’ll be ready for that pre-dinner parlor BS. She was real pretty, I don’t know how any of us will compete with that. Although you’ll probably be ok, Miss Sansa.”

“I doubt she’ll be partnered with anyone. She’s probably just here to visit her grandmother,” Sansa pointed out. “Three men for four women makes little sense. Just consider her a non-entity.”

“I suppose,” Miss Walda drawled, her eyes looking almost pinched as she thought that over. “But I hope she doesn’t steal Mr. Lyons from me.”

Brienne looked disgusted. “You want him?”

Miss Walda nodded eagerly. “He’s so hot. And that accent.”

“They all have accents,” Brienne pointed out. “Technically everyone does.”

Walda ignored her, facing Sansa with an eager face. “Mr. Hart seems gaga for you, Sansa.”

“He’s all right, pretty and everything but,” Sansa shrugged. “You’re right, Mr. Lyons is the hottest one.”

“Right?!” 

“Oh my God,” Brienne groaned. “I’m going for a walk. I can’t listen to this any longer.”

“Bye, Miss Knight,” Walda said cheerily. As soon as Brienne left though, Walda’s smile dropped. “Your friend is such a downer.”

“I kind of forced her to come,” Sansa said, feeling a little defensive on Brienne’s behalf. “She’s usually a lot of fun. I think she’s just out of her element.”

“Well, aren’t we all? I don’t even know really anything about Jane Austen. I just like the dresses. My boobs look fantastic in them.”

Sansa studiously avoided looking. “Uh.”

“Yours do too, even your flat friend’s boobs look good. God bless corsets. And England too.”

* * *

Miss Margaery Tyrell must have also been blessing corsets, although the way her figure was, it barely seemed as if she needed to wear one. Her breasts were larger than Sansa’s, in fact they were nearly as large as Miss Walda’s. Miss Walda, however was of a more impressive girth than Margaery who was lean and muscular, looking as if she played some sort of sport or maybe just ran a lot. Margaery was also about half a head shorter than Sansa and smiled as if she knew what you looked like naked. 

It was actually weirdly endearing to Sansa although Sansa was also _very glad_ that she was wearing clothes.

“Miss Edwards, it is quite an honor to meet you. I have met your Father and Mother in town once. I believe you were still to young to be out, but they were very kind and told me all about your piano playing.” Margery’s voice was rich and very English sounding to Sansa, which made sense because Miss Tyrell was both rich and English.

Sansa grinned, eager to play the role of Miss Edwards. “I am sure they told you how horrid it was, I’ve never been very good. That was my sister’s job.”

Mr. Hart interjected. His hand was close to Sansa’s on the dining room table, just one little turn and their pinkies would be touching. “I am sure you play wonderfully.”

“I can only play one piece of Mozart.” And that piece was _Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star_.

“I insist you play for us after dinner, Miss Edwards,” Mr. Hart said definitely, peering into her eyes. 

Sansa saw nothing there and sighed. “I can’t say I’m not flattered, but I’m truly not interested. I could sing if you like, I do enjoy that, but the piano and I are old enemies.”

“Do sing for us then, Miss Edwards,” Miss Tyrell stated, her smile all-knowing. “I shall play. Grandmother made me practice every day just for this reason.”

“I could play,” Miss Grey insisted, “if you’d like that is.”

Miss Tyrell cast a roving eye on Miss Grey and smiled her peculiar smile. “I would love for you to play. What songs do you know?”

As Miss Grey listed an actually very impressive list of songs, Mr. Hart whispered in Sansa’s ear. “Why does your friend look so sour?”

Brienne did look sour, Sansa noted. She wondered if Brienne had run into trouble after she left Walda’s room. Sansa did spy Brienne going outdoors. Sansa had been walking back from the library with a novel and passed by a window overlooking the grounds when she saw Brienne walking out to the stables but what kind of trouble could that induce? It was just a walk.

“She’ll be all right, I believe she misses her father.” 

“I thought she was a bastard,” Mr. Hart sneered. 

Sansa realized she slipped up regarding Brienne’s fake backstory but was disgusted by Mr. Hart’s tone. Was this truly how he felt about illegitimate children? Or was this part of his character?

Or the even better question concerned money. Did he not care for Brienne because she wasn’t rich? That she couldn’t afford anything but the copper package where she’d be forced into a shitty backstory? Did he know that Sansa’s family paid for it, did Lady Olenna tell them all this?

What an asshole.

Sansa stared him down. “I believe we have no more words to say to each other if you speak of my friend in such a way.”

He actually looked surprised and it seemed genuine. “Miss Edwards.”

Sansa ignored him and cut into her sausage so hard that her knife scraped the plate creating that horrible creaky sound that always made Sansa’s eyes water.

Mr. Hart winced at the message.

* * *

The after dinner parlor extravaganza (as Sansa liked to call it) was interesting enough. Sansa forgot how much she enjoyed singing for an audience. Typically she only sang in the car or the shower, she hadn’t had the opportunity to sing in front of an audience since, well before college.  

She had a voice teacher up until junior year of high school and so she still sounded fairly good which was pleasing. All of the actors looked mildly impressed, even Mr. Lyons who generally looked as if nothing impressed him. Even Brienne smiled during the performance which made it even more memorable and special and Sansa was complimented by Lady Olenna which felt practically newsworthy. 

Still, Sansa now felt restless. Mr. Hart had not stopped staring at her and it needled her so much that she almost snapped at him. 

Which would have been _Very Regency Inappropriate._

Sansa could hear the wood creaking underneath her bed and sighed. 

She wished she went outside and found that one guy again. Pod - he was nice and genuine, something that was very hard to find even outside of Austenland. And he was sort of cute in a geeky way, although he also looked really strong, probably from working as a stableboy. Strong and tan…

Sansa put her pillow over her head and groaned.

What was the matter with her? She had all of these hot guys in freaking Mr. Darcy gear at her beck and call ( _well, sort of)_ and she was daydreaming about the dude who worked in the stable? 

The other men were so charming and spoke so well, even Mr. Lyons although he pretended not to. 

And was Mr. Lyons only working here because of a card game? And was he actually a veteran? And rich from the sound of it? Was Mr. Hart ever going to stop being an ass? Was Mr. Stag a wannabe movie star if he was in that weird film that Sansa ended up watching with Walda (God what a weird movie)?

Sansa pressed the pillow against her face harder until the thoughts stopped coming and she finally fell asleep dreaming of cravats and corsets. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the last Sansa POV chapter, many people said a lot of the same things about Sansa - how they really liked what I was doing with her POV but had been worried beforehand because she was kind annoying in the first chapter (something I did quite purposefully so no worries about that lol). 
> 
> And instantly, after reading all these similar reviews, I was distinctly reminded of a Jane Austen quote and so I have decided to share it with you all.
> 
> "I am going to take a heroine whom no one but myself will much like.” - Jane Austen, commenting about her character, Emma.
> 
> I can't say that exactly about Sansa, but... you can see the similarity. Probably. 
> 
> ANYWAYS, thank you all for sticking with me, I hope you enjoyed some background on Jaime's life here. There'll be another 'surprise' regarding him next chapter actually. And thanks again for all the lovely reviews and kudos, I really appreciate it. <3


	6. Day Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does trouble find Brienne or does Brienne find trouble?

** Chapter Six **

_Rewind: Brienne’s Braces AJA  _

When Brienne finally got her braces off, the ones she had to wear for three and a half years, she had hoped that she’d be like Lizzy Bennet. That she could overcome the last time she tried and failed with a boy.

But she wasn’t Lizzy Bennet.

She was just Brienne. 

And just being Brienne wasn’t enough for her middle school classmates. 

So instead of being witty and bright, she was cold and harsh like a Massachusetts winter and unable to make anything but casual friends. 

She was so very alone. 

And that’s when she opened up another Jane Austen novel and began to read _Mansfield Park_ for the first time _,_ finding another young girl lost in a world that pretended she didn’t exist. Fanny was a friend to Brienne when no one else was and for that Brienne loved her best.  Until, of course, her next rereading of _Pride and Prejudice_ (you just can’t say no to Lizzy Bennet).

* * *

**_Brienne - Austenland Day 5 _ **

Brienne awoke to shouting in the hall. Groaning, she managed to make her way out of bed. It had been a long night, Brienne had to update Catelyn on everything that was going on without telling too much. Catelyn was good at sniffing out Brienne’s attempts at dodging so this took a delicate hand… and a very long time.

Yawning, Brienne saw a silk robe with pretty flowers was hanging on a chair and threw it on, not eager to show everyone her old, ratty pajamas. 

At least she was allowed to wear her own PJs in this place.

When Brienne opened the door, she was alarmed to find Miss Tyrell and Miss Grey outside it, arguing about — well, Brienne couldn’t tell exactly what.

Lady Olenna and Miss Roelle were there too, Lady Olenna dressed in the finest purple silks and Miss Roelle dressed in the most unflattering day dress (her breasts looked almost mottled). It was the presence of the elder ladies that made Brienne speak out. 

“Um, what exactly is going on here?” 

The four ladies turned and all but Lady Olenna seemed surprised to find Brienne there.

The lady of the house spoke first. “I believe Miss Walda was wondering why my granddaughterwas knocking on everyone’s door.”

Brienne glanced at her own door and looked back, confused. Lady Olenna smirked.

She looked quite like her granddaughter when she did that. 

The granddaughter shook her head, her pretty brown curls flying into her face, despite the fanciful up-do she was sporting. “I wasn’t knocking on everyone’s door. I was just trying to find the ladies. I wanted to invite you all to sit with me for tea. I know you all usually separate in the afternoon to do your own thing, Grandmother told me that, but I thought that was just a shame, when we’re all young, unmarried ladies.”

Miss Grey made a face at that although Brienne couldn’t discern _why._

“Were you going to knock on my door next?” Brienne managed to ask before Miss Grey said something inappropriate. 

Miss Tyrell smiled, “Yes, but Miss Grey followed me out of her room when I was on my way. I meant to knock on Miss Edwards’ door, but I must’ve passed by it by mistake.”

Remembering how her own lost wanderings two nights, Brienne wasn’t that shocked. Although perhaps she should have been since Miss Tyrell had probably been to this manor many times before. 

Although, maybe she just didn’t know where Sansa’s room was.

“I could show you where she is after I change,” Brienne said. 

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

Lady Olenna faked a cough, “Now that all of this is dealt with, perhaps we can stop this nonsense. I shall see you all at breakfast in an hour. Do not be late.”

“We won’t, Grandmother.”

Lady Olenna rolled her eyes and marched away. Miss Roelle looked like she wanted to follow, but instead stared at Brienne, her mouth in a firm, frightening line. “Miss Knight, I am here to help you dress.”

Brienne backed away without meaning to. Blushing she said, “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Nonsense,” Miss Roelle started to say before Miss Tyrell interrupted her. 

“I can help Miss Knight dress. And Miss Grey will help me. I bet Grandmother needs help berating the staff in the kitchens, you know how they almost always disappoint her in regards to the finest meal of the day.” Brienne had seen deadly smiles before, but Miss Tyrell’s was one of the most frightening… because it didn’t seem that deadly at all.

It was the eyes that gave her away. 

Miss Roelle seemed at a loss for words. “Uh-“

“Please go help Grandmother,” Miss Tyrell ordered with such a command that Brienne suddenly wondered if the woman had been a Queen in a past life.

Miss Roelle nodded, looking almost bewildered. Brienne would have felt sorrier for the “maid” if the woman hadn’t made rude comments about Brienne’s waistline the night before. “As you say, Miss Margaery.”

“Miss Tyrell,” the lady corrected, her smile sharper than ever. 

Miss Roelle looked almost frightened. “Yes, Miss Tyrell.”

And with that, she scurried off.

“Good on you for getting rid of that hag,” Miss Grey said as soon as Miss Roelle was gone. “She’s a bitch.”

Miss Tyrell laughed, but said nothing more as she ushered them all inside Brienne’s room.

“Um, well, welcome,” Brienne said awkwardly. Miss Tyrell didn’t seem to hear her, eyeing the room as a gardener eyed his growing plants.

“I’ve always liked this room best,” Miss Tyrell muttered, “It’s just cute.” 

Cute was not a word Brienne thought to ascribe to this room. “I do like it,” Brienne agreed. 

“And it’s so far from the noise — I bet you don’t hear much up here. The rest of our rooms are beside one another — I can hear the TV in dear Walda’s room — don’t fret about that, dear,” Miss Tyrell said to Miss Grey who looked embarrassed. “I sleep just fine with loud noises. I live in London after all.”

“So, Miss Knight,” Miss Tyrell continued after another moment, “Would it be all right to call you Brienne when it’s just the ladies? All these surnames are mouthfuls.”

Brienne nodded but felt ill at ease. Margaery smiled though. “Good, now let’s get you into some nicer clothes. I feel as though Miss Roelle has picked out the most unflattering pieces of dress she could find for you and that just isn’t right. You are a guest after all.”

“And she’s just a bitch,” Walda helpfully added, perching herself on Brienne’s bed. “Say, this is really nice. I think it’s softer than my bed.”

Brienne didn’t feel as if it’d be polite to mention that she preferred firmer beds and instead smiled wretchedly. 

And she knew it was wretched because Margaery raised an eyebrow at her while she examined Brienne’s wardrobe.

“Ah now this, this is perfectly beautiful,” Margaery said, pulling out a cornflower blue day dress. It had white trim on the sleeves with white flowers sewn on and it seemed to made of a lightweight cotton fabric. 

Brienne actually liked it. 

“I could try it on,” Brienne said, trying not to sound too excited. She’d been disappointed by pretty dresses before and it’d be embarrassing for a dress to disappoint her in front of two strangers.

Margaery helped Brienne into her chemise and Walda tied up Brienne’s stays — which was so much more comfortable than a corset.

“You’ve been forced into a corset every day?” Margaery asked when Brienne mentioned it. “But a stay would work just as well for a day dress.”

Brienne felt her face and breasts turning red. “Miss Roelle said —“

Margaery had a steely glint in her eyes, “I will have some words with my Grandmother about Miss Roelle.”

“I don’t want to cause any trouble!” Brienne said, alarmed. 

Walda laughed, “I do! She really is a bitch. She kept calling me fat under her breath when she thought I couldn’t hear her. I was going to complain about her anyhow.”

“And she came so well-recommended too,” Margaery said mournfully, as she guided Brienne into the dress. “There, don’t you look lovely? If only we had mascara, that would make your pretty eyes pop.”

“I don’t think mascara was available in 1814,” Brienne said while the other women oriented her towards the mirror.

She wasn’t lovely, that was a kind exaggeration of Margaery’s, but she did look rather nice. Nicer than she had in recent memory… and Brienne’s memory went far. 

“Sansa will love to see me like this.”

“About that…” Margaery’s eyes had a strange gleam in them and her smile was wicked. “Are you two Sapphic?”

Brienne watched her entire body turn red in the mirror. “NO! Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she quickly amended. “And well, I don’t know about Sansa, she might be interested in girls, but I know she has only dated guys, but I know I’m definitely not even though everyone always assumes —“

Margaery and Walda both laughed and Brienne felt like her embarrassment was a joke.

“It’s fine, Brienne,” Margaery asked, wiping away a tear she had received from laughing so hard. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just wondering because we don’t typically receive two friends as guests. And when we do… well….”

So it wasn’t because she was masculine, Brienne realized with relief. Calming down, she managed to say, trying to jest, “I think Sansa would be much too pretty for someone like me anyways.”

Margaery gave her a sharp glance and looked like she wanted to argue but Walda interrupted whatever thought Margaery had and spoke of how achingly hungry she was, making them all head down to breakfast.

Margaery and Walda kept talking about some actor they both liked in some movie they both saw the week before as they walked down to breakfast together. Brienne kept silent. For one, she hadn’t seen the movie (she wasn’t that into movies) and two, why was everyone breaking the scene? And why was the scene breaking so enjoyable to her?

She thought on her meeting with Hyle the evening before. She left him in a huff, feeling stupid when he made a comment about her being a kind, gentle sort. People that she had known her entire life had not noticed that about her personality. 

And it was discomforting to realize a man who had only spoken to her twice had already figured that out about her. 

But… she grimaced, thinking of how she just left him sitting on a bench in the garden, she should probably find him and apologize soon.

Or… she blushed at the though. Or maybe take him up on the kiss he offered. 

He wasn’t handsome, but he felt real and kind, and after a lifetime of teasing and cruel jokes, Brienne had a good eye for that. She had to have one... to survive.

She could find Hyle after breakfast, perhaps, and before Margaery’s tea. He’d probably be working somewhere, Brienne bet she could find him. 

Or… just maybe he’d even come looking for her.

That would be rather nice.

For once, someone coming to look for her, instead of the other way around. 

* * *

 “Are you going on a walk, then?” Sansa asked, delicately wiping her face off with a napkin as she finished off her breakfast. She looked like a portrait, pale skin, bright eyes, delicate features — the gown she was wearing was white and made up of the prettiest silk Brienne had ever seen, somehow it made Sansa glow. 

“Um,” Brienne managed to say, “yes?”

Her walk had a purpose though, one that Sansa would probably laugh at her for, but Brienne had to do it. She wanted to see Hyle again. 

“Could I come with you?”

Somehow, Margaery sensed that Brienne wanted to be alone. The other woman smiled prettily at Sansa, directing Sansa’s attention away from Brienne, and asked her to stay. Walda wasn’t paying much attention to any of them, instead staring out the window looking for the men.

Margaery smiled prettily. “I just don’t know how to embroider very well, Grandmother says I’m hopeless.” Brienne doubted that, but was glad of the lie that Margaery told. Sansa seemed disappointed but placed a smile on her face and urged Brienne to have a good time outdoors.

Brienne started out in the gardens joyfully although she was also nervous — what if Hyle didn’t want to talk to her anymore?

But to Brienne’s immense disappointment, she wasn’t able to find Hyle at all.

Instead she found Mr. Lyons prowling the grounds. 

The men had not joined the women for breakfast this morning, although they had a few other times. There didn’t seem to be a rule either way about it, it seemed to be up to Lady Olenna’s whims of the day. And today Brienne had managed to avoid seeing all the men, all of whom she had reasons to avoid. 

Mr. Stag, well she had seen him having sex with someone else and was completely embarrassed about that, especially since she had just started nursing a crush on the man. 

Mr. Hart didn’t even seem to _see_ Brienne and that was just… it was annoying. Especially since she was, technically, a paying customer. Although it was obvious he was destined to be Sansa’s match from the way he attempted (poorly) to fawn over her, he could have at least been polite to Brienne and Walda. But he wasn’t. He was just a jerk.

And that left Mr. Lyons. She and him just did not get along and she’d rather avoid his cruel words that were masked under the title of wit. 

She tried slinking away before he could notice her but it was a futile effort — she was just too noticeable.

“Miss Knight!” he greeted jovially although he wasn’t smiling at her. She suspected he was still mad about how she spoke to him after she found Mr. Stag in uh… that _situation_.

Brienne didn’t regret her words to the man too much, although Mr. Lyons looked at her as if she should be regretting her entire life. 

“Mr. Lyons,” she said, stiffly nodding at him. She tried to escape him by walking past him but it was no use, he was too quick. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, “Aren’t the ladies painting each other’s portraits or something?”

He said ‘ _or something’_ as if it was a curse. Brienne felt defensive, “I suppose you think it’s a unnecessary skill — being able to paint.”

“Why would I think that? Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Your tone said it all,” Brienne frowned and turned away from him, hoping to find Hyle at a different location. “Good day, sir.”

“You didn’t answer my question… wench.”

At that term, Brienne turning around again, feeling her face flare. Was she going to be turning red her entire day? 

“I’m looking for someone,” she managed to say, once the flames stopped flaring.

“Not Mr. Stag, I’m sure?” Mr. Lyons grinned. “I thought after the other night…” he trailed off.

Brienne glared. “That’s not our business.”

“Yet we both know of this business, although I know more than you. Would it make you feel better to know that the two young, _virile_ men are actually engaged to be married in reality? Or would that make you feel worse?”

_In reality._

Brienne swallowed, trying not to remember her half-cooked daydreams starring Mr. Stag. “I don’t have an opinion either way. They’re both consenting adults.”

Mr. Lyons roared with laughter. “Very progressive of you, Miss Knight,” he said. “I’d say, next you’ll be proposing that women should be able to vote and have lands of their own.”

Brienne was getting dizzy from all the time traveling he was inducing — was it 1814 or not? So she looked down.

And noticed he wasn’t wearing any gloves.

And THAT made her notice something else entirely.

She looked away, embarrassed. She wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed it had taken her so long to notice after sitting with him at dinner every night or if that she was staring at it the way people stared at her.

“It’s all right,” he said, sounding weary. “It’s just a fake hand.”

She looked into his eyes then. “I’m sorry.”

Mr. Lyons shrugged. “I’ve had over two years to deal with it… I’m over it now.” 

He didn’t sound over it.

As if to prove her point, he handed Brienne his right arm, although he didn’t remove the prosthetic. “Take it, wench, see what I have to deal with,” he scowled, looking at her hard.

Brienne decided to be kind and ignore the wench comment. “It looks so real… I didn’t even notice before.” Brienne couldn’t help touching it, removing her own gloves in order to feel it better. She did it out of some sort of morbid fascination. No matter how inappropriate it was for her to be doing this, Regency or otherwise, she just had this strange need to touch it.

He rolled his eyes at her comment. “Thank my father and the hundreds of thousands of pounds he spent. It’s basically like Luke’s hand in Star Wars, except I still can’t feel anything. And when you touch it, it’s obviously plastic.”

It did feel very plastic-y. “Luke’s hand is an apt comparison.”

“I wouldn’t think most girls would know that reference.”

Brienne scoffed, “Everyone knows Star Wars. Don’t be an ass.”

Mr. Lyons smirked, “I’m only an ass for you, princess.”

Ignoring him, Brienne examined the hand some more, “It does look pretty real, although wearing gloves while you’re working here must also help the illusion.”

His eyes met hers and Brienne’s stomach dropped. 

Brienne looked away first.

“It does,” Mr. Lyons confessed, disregarding the moment. That bothered Brienne for some unnameable reason. “But I shouldn’t really be breaking the illusion at all, should I?”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Brienne agreed, dropping his false hand. “I suppose I shall see you… later.”

“Yes, you will, Miss Knight.” She moved to leave but then he stopped her, grinning. “You know, I’ve been wanting to tell you, for a while now, that I like your surname. It fits you. I can almost imagine you wearing a shield with a coat of arms and saving maidens.”

Brienne scowled at him. “I’d save everyone.”

“Even me?” His smile was obnoxious.

Brienne snorted and walked away, not eager to give him the answer he was looking for that yes, she would even save _him._

* * *

Hyle was by the stables, talking to a few other servants. He beamed when he saw Brienne coming, although he crooked his head as if to indicate that she should move out of sight. She looked where he was pointing and saw a little shed. 

Brienne hesitated. It didn’t feel appropriate to talk to him in such a place, but she had just held a man’s fake hand so she might as well go for it. Especially since she actually liked Hyle. 

The shed was dark and covered in hay and hay bales. It didn’t look like it could fit more than three people. Hyle met her there about two minutes later, his brown eyes warmly looking her over, although it was actually quite hard to see the rest of his face. Only his eyes were familiar to her. “Now this is much better on you than those other things you were wearing before,” he said, referring to her dress. 

Brienne smiled at him, feeling almost giddy. She rarely got meaningful compliments on her looks at all, especially from men. 

“So, uh,” he looked up at her, “would you mind stepping a little closer?”

Brienne followed his instruction, although she was puzzled, “Why—“

He interrupted her with a kiss. 

Brienne hadn’t been kissed in so long that she had often wondered if she had forgotten how to do it. 

From the way he kept trying to stick his tongue in her mouth, Brienne suspected that kissing was sort of like riding a bike — you never really forgot. 

But she wasn’t sure that she wanted to be doing it with a man she barely knew. With a slight press, she shoved him away, embarrassed

“Shit, Brienne, you’re really good at that,” Hyle said when they broke apart. Why, she wondered, why would he say that when she barely did anything.

“Thank you. But -“

He interrupted her with a laugh. “You’re welcome, I guess, although I feel like I should be thanking you.” 

“Won’t this get us into trouble?”

“Probably but what’s life without a little danger? We just have to be sneaky about it.”

Brienne bit her lip. “We shouldn’t be doing this — you work here. This is your livelihood, working as a driver and all that other servant stuff — that’s your job! Kissing me isn’t!”

“Always worried about others, eh Brienne?” Hyle’s white teeth flashed against the dark. “I’d risk this stupid job for you any day. You’re too sweet not to… and I don’t just mean your personality.”

He tried to kiss her again. “Stop,” Brienne said, pushing him away. “I have to go to tea.”

Hyle didn’t seem too bothered, grinning at her. “Well, have fun. I hope I’ll see you tonight though.”

Brienne shook her head, disturbed. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Only a maybe? I’m heartbroken,” he said with a laugh, although Brienne noticed that it seemed rather fake. Maybe he actually was upset at the prospect of not seeing her.

“Well, um,” she hedged and he actually laughed then. 

“Go on, I’ll find you tomorrow. And the day after that,” he smiled. “Have fun talking about Napoleon or whatever.”

“We’re not allowed to talk about _the war,_ ” Brienne informed him, still feeling off. Why did he kiss her?

“Well, that’s because you’re just simple ladies, don’t you know that?” Hyle laughed again. “Go talk about your prospects then, but you might not want to mention me, since I don’t inherit anything except my Father’s cat. And he’s a nasty, ugly thing.”

“I’m a dog person anyhow,” Brienne said as she pushed open the door, the sunlight pouring in, “but goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Brienne.” 

* * *

 

Brienne felt almost drunk at tea and wondered if anyone could suspect what had happened to her. The kiss had been rather nice if unexpected and she still couldn’t decide how she truly felt about it, other than, well, a little giddy at the idea that someone liked her.

Unfortunately, when the others noticed her giddiness, they all suspected the wrong reason.

“So, I was looking out the window earlier,” Margaery started, her smile a secret. “And imagine my astonishment when I saw you and Mr. Lyons together… holding hands.”

Walda tittered while Sansa looked at Brienne with astonishment.

“He was showing me his, uh, injury… from fighting Napoleon!” Brienne quickly said, remembering his backstory. Or at least she thought it was his backstory. 

It was getting so confusing.

Walda pouted. “I was hoping he was meant for me, but he’s never held my hand. 

Margaery ignored her. “See this is what happens when you wear a pretty dress, all the men fall over themselves. This is why I love living in town, all the wonderful fabrics available for purchase — so much more varied than the country.”

Margaery, apparently, was in full-on Regency mode.And, unfortunately, Sansa joined in the mode eagerly. “I quite agree! While I do love visiting my friends in the country, the variety in town is quite lovely — both for characters and fabrics.”

Brienne sighed. 

“What town are you guys even talking about?” Walda demanded after she sipped on her tea. Grimacing, Walda added another sugar cube.

“London,” Brienne replied. 

“That’s a city not a town,” Walda pointed out. Quite reasonably really, considering that Walda knew very little of the Regency world.

Which is why Brienne felt a little bad when she noticed that Margaery was struggling not to laugh. “Cities are towns, dear,” Margaery said, once she stopped holding her breath. “In 1814, anyhow.”

“Oh.” Walda seemed unbothered. “That’s nice, I guess. Could we go to London? I’m getting kind of bored of just sitting here. Or if we can’t go there… can the men come inside and sit with us? I feel as though I only see them around dinner. Not that you guys are eyesores or anything, but damn, those pants…”

Sansa’s face relaxed. “They do fit rather well, don’t they?”

Margaery’s eyes met Brienne’s and she grinned. “You all sound so eager to see what’s underneath.”

Brienne shook her head. “Shouldn’t we talk about something more proper.”

“Yes, chaperone,” Margaery chimed, winking at the others. “Let’s talk of money. How many pounds a year do you think they all have? I could tell you about my, uh,” she rolled her eyes, “ _cousin_ Harry’s income, but I supposed that’d ruin the game.”

“I feel as if this is somehow more improper,” Brienne muttered. Sansa poked her stomach.

“Come on, Miss Knight,” Sansa’s blue eyes twinkled. “Let’s have some fun.”

“Fine.” Brienne stared into her teacup. Her voice felt far away. “Mr. Lyons — ten thousand pounds a year.”

Despite not looking up, Brienne could feel Margaery staring. 

“How on earth did you know that?” Margaery gasped. “Did he tell you?”

“He reminds me of Mr. Darcy,” Brienne said, “Not in his personality as much as his manner. They’re both…” She stopped talking trying to think of what it exactly was about Mr. Lyons that reminded Brienne of Mr. Darcy. 

She couldn’t think of anything. “Well, they’re both something else, I guess.”

“Mr. Darcy is the hot one right?” Walda asked, a victorious, flushed grin appearing on her face. “I knew I picked the best guy.”

Margaery laughed and the topic trailed into how flattering corsets were ("Your breasts look especially good, Margaery!"). Brienne didn’t contribute, too bothered by her own comparison. 

Why did a loud, blonde ( _why was Mr. Darcy always cast as a brunette? That was a serious question to ponder considering there wasn’t a description beyond handsome regarding him)_ , lazy, insulting — 

Ah-ha. There it was — he was insulting.

But that was the extent of the similarity, Brienne decided. Mr. Lyons wasn’t honorable or good like Mr. Darcy. He was just a jerk who was only here because he had nothing else to do.

She thought of his hand then. 

And how she and Sansa eavesdropped on the conversation between Mr. Lyons and Lady Olenna. Mr. Lyons had been in the military and had “troubles”. Did it have to do with his hand? 

“Brienne, are you all right?” 

“I’m fine,” Brienne said to Sansa, who looked remarkably worried. “Just considering what will be for supper.”

Margaery clapped her hands together, “Oh I believe Grandmother is getting us all roasted pheasant.” 

“Sounds lovely,” Sansa said, while Walda agreed.

Brienne only nodded, too caught up in her own thoughts that all featured green eyes and golden hair.

* * *

Brienne didn’t know why she was doing this. Running after Hyle after dinner. In the dark. 

She wasn’t crazy romantic. She barely knew this guy.  

But _he liked her._  

And there is always something completely fascinating about a boy who likes you. 

Or so Brienne guessed. 

She was pretty sure no guy had ever liked her this way before.

Nearly “seven-and-twenty” and never truly _liked_ by a guy before this moment. Before this guy. Before Hyle - a man whose surname she didn’t even know. 

So distracted she was by this thought, that she ran right into another young man… who was wearing jeans.

“Ow,” he muttered, glaring at her while brushing his jeans off. He looked young, about 19, but Brienne suspected he was older than he looked, close to her own age. 

He also looked familiar but she didn’t have time to think on that before he started lecturing her. “What in the hell are you doing out here? Don’t you have a curfew?”

Was he a burglar, Brienne wildly wondered, “Who are you?”

“Better question is who are you?” he challenged, his eyes raking over her suspiciously. “You’re supposed to be in your room at this time. Why are you wandering the grounds like a woman on a mission… unless, of course, you’re actually a man…”

Brienne tried not to wince at the familiar jab at her appearance. “I’m a guest and you’re an intruder. I—“ she stopped and swallowed her fear when she remembered she didn’t have a cell phone. “I’ll fight you if I have to.”

“God damn it,” he swore, pulling out his own phone and pressing a button, “Yeah, Renly, get down here in the yard, some crazy chick in stupid Regency clothes wants to attack me.”

Renly? 

The ground almost felt as if it was moving. Brienne had somehow made it through the past few days without looking into Mr. Stag’s eyes, too embarrassed about what she had seen, but now…

Mr. Stag showed up quickly, looking as if he ran, sweat trickling into his Regency Appropriate mustache, while his loose cravat looked close to hitting him in his handsome face. “Are you ok?”

Brienne started to answer, but the other man beat her to it. “This brute threatened to attack me!”

“I’m not a brute!” Brienne argued, her embarrassment rising into anger. “I thought you were an intruder! And you still haven’t proven anything to convince me otherwise!”

Mr. Stag looked back and forth between them with an amused grin. “You don’t see the family resemblance?”

“Between you two?” Brienne was confused.

Mr. Stag laughed, “No! God no. Between him and Margaery. This is Loras _Tyrell_. He’s the marketing director of Austenland. He comes back and forth from here and London.”

“Oh.” Brienne felt stupid.

Loras glared, “Now what are you doing out of your room?”

“Loras,” Mr. Stag soothed, pressing a hand on Loras’ shoulder. “She’s a guest. She can pretty much break the rules if she wants.”

“Grandmother would hate that,” Loras grumbled, his pretty face marred by his unease. 

“She doesn’t mind little slip-ups, you know that. Especially when — “ Renly suddenly stopped and looked towards Brienne as if he had forgotten she was there. “Well, we’ll discuss it later.”

“Um.” Brienne watched as the two men became more touchy and quickly realized that Loras was the man she had seen with Mr. Stag two night before. “I’ll go back to my room now.”

“We’ll escort you!” Mr. Stag said cheerily, releasing his grip on Loras’ shoulder. Loras grumbled his agreement although it was quite clear that he wasn’t interested in doing any such thing. 

“No, no I’m quite all right.” Brienne said, blushing. She did not want to impede any lovemaking between the two men. She always hated being the “ugly cockblock” as more than one roommate’s boyfriend called her… to her face. “I’ll make it back without any trouble.”

Forgetting all about Hyle, Brienne hurried back inside Highgarden before the two men could argue with her. 

Well, at least Mr. Stag had someone to love tonight.

Even if she didn’t.

Because she didn’t love Hyle. She didn’t even like him really, she knew that. 

It had just been so… nice to be kissed and wanted for once in her life.

And unfortunately now that she realized this… Brienne had to do the right thing.

She had to end it. Whatever it was. It wasn’t right for them to risk his job for kisses, especially when she had never indicated a want to be kissed… to her knowledge. No matter how long it’d been since Brienne had been kissed… no matter that it was the first time she felt wanted. Desired. 

None of that mattered. It wasn’t right especially since she didn’t have more than a passing attraction to him. Maybe they could just be friends until the end of her trip. He was very nice and he seemed to get her so it’d be nice to have a friend. If there was something more by then, a stronger, beautiful feeling, well, then… Brienne really had no idea what she’d do. 

She had never felt wanted before. And of course… if it was real… really real… then… maybe… 

Well, she didn’t know what she’d do in that case. 

And she almost hoped that she wouldn’t have to find out. The idea of trying to arrange a long-distance relationship when she had barely been in any sort of relationship was terrifying. 

Brienne just wasn’t the sort of girl that handsome British men mooned over. Or even plain British men. Or even men in general. She was the girl who was in the way, the girl who scared off guys for her friends at bars, the girl who fell in love with men she would never have. 

Which made her think of “Mr. Stag”. 

Ugh, how dumb was she to think that Mr. Stag- Renly could ever like her? Of course he had someone else to love. 

Everyone did.

Everyone but her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard chapter. But fun to write. It's just hard to deal with Hyle... because he's Hyle.


	7. Day Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ride, a picnic, and a game of charades.
> 
> or Sansa's got 99 problems and a horse is at least one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm releasing this earlier than expected so rejoice and enjoy, my friends.

**Chapter 7**

_Rewind: Sansa’s First Prom_

Sansa didn’t have a date to Junior Prom much to everyone’s astonishment. She posed for pictures next to her best friend Jeyne as well as Jeyne’s date, some hot guy that Jeyne made out with at a party a few weeks before. Sansa posed and smiled and pretended that not having a date didn’t bother her at all. Sansa had expected someone to ask her out. She had three options in her mind, all smart and fun and cute — all from her friend group even. But Option Number 1 chose to invite another mutual friend, Option Number 2 decided to skip out on Prom altogether, and Option Number 3 was (surprise!) taking his not-so-secret (although Sansa didn’t know) boyfriend to Prom. She posed next to Option Number 1 and 3 at one point, beaming at the camera and pretending that it didn’t bother her.

And it didn’t end up bothering her much when she found Jeyne crying in the bathroom.

If Sansa had brought a date along to Prom, she had a feeling that her date would not have understood that friends were much more important than boys.

* * *

**_Sansa - Austenland Day 6_ **

Mr. Hart guided Sansa over the steps. “Be careful, Miss Edwards, with the recent rains, it’s been a little muddy.”

It had rained the night before, the water slapping the roof so hard that Sansa woke up from the noise. She looked at her phone blearily feeling quite distraught when she saw the time: _2:30 A.M._ She couldn’t fall asleep for another hour after that, the rain loud and angry, hitting the window the way Arya would hit a punching bag. Even with a pillow over her head, Sansa couldn’t manage to ignore the clamor. And now she was exhausted from the lack of sleep, yet here they were... about to ride horses.

Sansa lightly stepped over some debris that had fallen from a tree. “Should we really be riding then?”

Margaery laughed lightly behind her where the rest of the company were, where they were all walking ever so slowly. Sansa wasn’t sure why she was leading the pack of guests and actors. She didn’t even like horseback riding.

But here Sansa was, leading the way with Mr. Hart, who she also didn’t like very much.

Was there a way for her to discreetly alert Lady Olenna that she wasn’t enjoying the man she was matched with for her Guaranteed Austen Happy Ending?

He at least seemed like he was trying to make an effort now, much more so than he had before. Perhaps he realized after her chilly looks that she wasn’t interested in a jerk.

Mr. Hart even complimented Brienne at this morning’s breakfast. Brienne hadn’t been impressed although she also DID look very surprised.  

Mr. Lyons, however, had a strange look on his face while he watched Mr. Hart.

Sansa was fairly sure that the two men didn’t like each other very much, Mr. Stag seemed like the only actor who actually got along with everyone, smiling and laughing the whole time. She could hear him now, eagerly explaining the history of the saddle.

Suddenly Sansa was glad she was in front. She wasn’t sure if she could pretend to be excited about that.

“I’ll protect you, Miss Edwards, don’t worry about that,” Mr. Hart said in reply to her worries. Sansa pretended to smile, but wasn’t able to keep it on her face for very long.

She didn’t need protection, she just didn’t want to go at all.

When they arrived at the stables, Sansa hoped to see Podrick. She hadn’t spoke to him since she met him, although she caught a brief glimpse of him the day before. It was such a quick glance that that she didn’t realize it was him until it was too late.

“Is this mare to your satisfaction, milady?” Mr. Hart asked in jest, taking the reins of a pretty dappled mare from a plain looking stable boy- or rather, stable man. Sansa looked around for Brienne so they could share an almost sisterly type of eye rolling, but oddly, Brienne was avoiding Sansa’s attempts at catching Brienne’s eye.

That was strange.

“She’s fine,” Sansa said, “Quite a lovely color.”

That felt like the right thing to say because Mr. Hart smiled at her and it almost looked genuine.

Perhaps it was.

He quickly helped her onto the horse and Sansa tried not to show her discomfort, instead gazing upon the scene. Mr. Hart was now helping Brienne of all people onto her horse, although Brienne looked quite embarrassed by the attention.

Margaery and Walda were giggling together as Mr. Lyons and Mr. Stag brought over their respective horses. Mr. Stag helped Margaery up onto a pretty white steed while Mr. Lyons helped Walda onto a black stallion. Both women looked like experts, sitting side-saddle better than Sansa ever could even  after nearly a year of learning how to horseback ride.

Brienne also looked like she belonged on a horse although Sansa was pretty sure that this was only the second or third time Brienne had been on a horse at all. But Brienne looked actually happy on her mare, even while sitting side saddle, patting the horse with a careful hand.

Sansa sighed. Why was she the only one with horse problems?

Soon the men were upon their own horses and the group headed out.

* * *

“We’ll settle here for a picnic,” Mr. Stag announced after nearly an hours worth of riding. Sansa’s thighs were sore and she was half-expecting that she wouldn’t be able to get off the horse without falling. Why did side saddles exist?

For once, she was glad that Mr. Hart was there to help her down.

“But none of us brought a basket!” Walda exclaimed. “Or food!”

“She’s right. Unless, of course, you settled this beforehand, Mr. Stag.” Margaery quirked an eyebrow.

Mr. Stag grinned, “You know me too well, Miss Tyrell.”

With a clap of his hands, several servants appeared behind the trees.

Were they there the whole time? Waiting for their arrival?

What a shitty job — Sansa thought her own job was mindless and dull, but it was nothing compared to this. Although, she was often grabbing people coffee at their leisure at least she didn’t have to wait in the summer sun or in the gross mud for rich people trussed up in Regency clothes.

One young man set a picnic blanket down and when he looked up, Sansa felt warmth spread in her chest. It was Podrick!

He smiled shyly, recognizing her.  

Sansa smiled back and even tried to think of a way to talk to him, but instead, Mr. Hart gripped her gloved hand and pulled her onto the picnic blanket that another servant set up. Brienne sat on her other side, looking quite happy to be sitting beside Sansa.

“We need to talk at some point,” Brienne whispered. “I may have done something stupid.”

Brienne didn’t do stupid things — that was Sansa’s job. “What do you mean?”

Brienne shook her head, looking carefully down at her hands, “We can talk later.”

Sansa reached for Brienne’s hand and grasped it. Pressing their leathery gloves together didn’t exactly feel comforting but Sansa could tell that Brienne appreciated it.

That was until Mr. Lyons dropped himself in between Brienne and Sansa without even an apology.

Brienne looked angrier than Sansa had ever seen her. “Excuse me, I was talking to Sans- Miss Edwards.”

Mr. Lyons rolled his eyes. “You can talk to her later, for now let’s eat. And anyhow,” he smirked, “everywhere else is full.”

This was true. Walda and Margaery and Mr. Stag were squished together on the other side of the blanket. There had only been the small space in between Sansa and Brienne and Mr. Lyons took advantage of it.

Mr. Hart glared at Mr. Lyons above Sansa’s head. “You could have at least asked,” he said to Mr. Lyons.

Sansa wasn’t as surprised as she would have been this morning at Mr. Hart’s statement. He truly was trying to impress her… or something. Still she had to make a very forceful attempt not to sigh at his attempt, instead glancing behind Mr. Lyons to smile at Pod again, who was standing with his arms folded behind his back, trying to keep his face appropriately blank.

Until Sansa smiled at him… then he smiled at her again, a blush tinging his cheeks. Sansa was trying to remember if she had ever made a boy blush before when Mr. Hart spoke.

“You, boy,” he ordered Pod, as if Pod was ten years younger than him rather than two or three he probably was, “Go fetch us parasols from the house for the ladies.”

Pod nodded as if he was going to do that but Sansa was aghast. “It took us nearly an hour to get here on horseback. By the time he fetches us parasols, we’ll be done.”

“It’s all right, Miss Edwards,” Pod said. When she looked back to him he was carrying four different parasols in his hands, “I brought some along with me. It looked like the sun was going to be hot today.”

Mr. Lyons, who had earlier been speaking to Brienne (who looked redder than the parasol that Pod was handing to Sansa) looked to Pod and grinned. “That was smart, Podrick.”

Podrick’s face now matched Brienne’s. But Sansa couldn’t dwell on that, “You know each other?”

Mr. Lyons’ grin didn’t abate. “Aye, in a way. We’re almost friends, aren’t we, Podrick?” Mr. Lyons winked at Pod who ducked his head. “He worked for my brother for a time, until my brother had to go abroad. To the continent for business… and pleasure.” The grin on Mr. Lyons’ face was slightly wicked now and sharper than a knife. “And I got Pod a job here once I heard he needed a new one. Lady Olenna loves him.”

Pod’s blush worsened.

“Leave him be,” Brienne whispered to Mr. Lyons who looked amused by her comment. “You’re embarrassing him.”

Mr. Hart, during all of this, said nothing, instead preferring to pout. Over what, Sansa couldn’t imagine. Instead, she thanked Podrick as he handed her a yellow parasol, and winked at him when no one else could see.

She enjoyed his grin. It felt almost as if they were comrades in arms or partners in crime.

Sansa liked having a partner in crime.

* * *

Mr. Hart’s mood didn’t approve on the ride back even as he insisted he ride beside her.

“If I wanted to watch a child pout, I would have become a governess,” she finally snapped at him, when his temper didn’t improve, turning her mare around to catch up to Brienne who was riding beside Mr. Stag and laughing at something he said.

But then she saw Podrick riding with the other servants and did something unthinkable.

“Podrick!” she waved.

The other servants looked as shocked as Podrick at her arrival at their little group. Podrick wasn’t blushing now, although he did look worried.

“We really aren’t supposed to talk. I could lose my job.”

Sansa smiled. “After Mr. Lyons’ tale, I doubt you could lose it. I just wanted to thank you again… and apologize for Mr. Hart’s behavior.”

“It’s not your fault. Don’t apologize for him. And it’s ok, really. I’m used to it.”

“With him?”

Podrick’s grin was strange. It somehow reminded Sansa of Brienne. “With everyone. Uh, that is,” he stumbled, “everyone except you.”

“It’s all right, I knew what you meant,” Sansa said kindly.

They rode beside each other quietly while Sansa watched the others ride ahead. Only Mr. Hart looked behind every once in a while, looking at her. She wished she could see his expression, it was unnerving to not know what kind of thoughts were crossing his face.

“You know, I, I think you and the other servants do such a good job. And you’re so underrated. You do such thankless tasks and I - I- “ she tried to speak, suddenly nervous.

He waited, a patient expression on his face. No, not patient, Sansa realized, an empathetic one.

“Well,” she swallowed, “I really appreciate it. And I know Brienne does too.”

“Lady Olenna pays us well, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No! No, it wasn’t that.” Sansa felt her face turn red. “I just know what it’s like to be unappreciated. My job, I mean, oh God, what do I mean — “

“Your family role?” Podrick supplied, smiling kindly at her. Sansa exhaled with relief and grinned.

“Yes, that’s it exactly. Well, I’m not always appreciated.”

“I don’t think anyone is. For the most part.”

Sansa considered this. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Miss Edwards! Stop flirting and hurry up!” Margaery called out a few yards ahead. She had stopped her horse in order to wait for Sansa, “It looks like it’s going to rain.”

Sansa looked back to Podrick. “Are you going to be all right? In the rain I mean?”

He nodded. “It’s my job. And this is your holiday. Enjoy it.”

“I will. I am, I mean. Especially when I talk to you.”

Podrick blushed and Sansa felt victorious. “That’s very kind of you to say, Miss Edwards.”

Sansa grinned. “Call me Sansa.”

And then tried to ride away the way a heroine would in a movie.

Of course… that didn’t work out as well as she hoped.

“Okay,” Sansa sighed, “she’s not galloping.” At least there wasn’t a face plant, Sansa thought glumly.

Podrick laughed. It was affectionate. “It’s a little harder when you’re doing side saddle.”

“Of course it is.”

Podrick laughed again. “It’s all right. Just get her into a trot and you’ll be all right.”

With a little effort Sansa managed to do it. “Wow, thank you, Podrick.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Sansa.”

She must’ve had a strange expression on her face because he laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just wasn’t expecting that… combination of terms. You can just call me Sansa, you know.”

“Sansa!” Margaery called again, this time riding to her. She looked over Podrick with a cool eye and then glanced back at Sansa, “Everyone is waiting for you. It’s about to start pouring.”

Sansa sighed. “All right. I’ll join you now. Thank you again, Podrick.”

And with that, she left him. When she glanced back he was riding by himself, the other servants not taking the moment to ride back to him.

Sansa hoped she didn’t accidentally cause him problems.

He didn’t deserve any.

* * *

It started raining the moment they got back in the house.

“I suppose we should all get changed,” Margaery said, taking charge. “And then perhaps we can meet in the parlor for charades.”

“That sounds delightful,” Mr. Stag said. “I request Miss Knight for my team.”

“We haven’t even decided on captains yet,” Margaery teased.

“Then I’ll be captain,” three male voices proclaimed simultaneously.

Brienne sighed.

Walda giggled.

Margaery looked as if she was about to join Walda in her own set of musical giggles.

“Men,” she said with a toss of her head with false disdain. “Everyone get changed and THEN Grandmother will decide upon the teams.”

“Fair enough,” Mr. Stag agreed. And with that they all split apart.

Within a half hour, Sansa had changed into a yellow day dress with pink ribbons on the sleeves. The cleavage wasn’t as revealing as many of her dresses, which Sansa appreciated. She wasn’t feeling up to dealing with a corset, stays were enough.

Brienne was dressed in a white dress. Sansa couldn’t decide if it was flattering on her friend or not, but it still looked better than the other dresses Brienne had been forced into earlier on the trip.

Mr. Lyons was watching Brienne oddly and Sansa hoped he wasn’t going to tease her more. If he was Brienne’s Guaranteed Austen match than he was going about it very poorly. Brienne liked kindness not teasing.

Then Walda came in, in a fanciful pink dress that matched the pink rouge on her cheeks, followed by Margaery who was also wearing a pink dress.

“We match very well, don’t you think?” Margaery said to Sansa with a nod of her head at Walda.

Sansa nodded back with a smile. “Very well, indeed, Miss Tyrell.”

Margaery grinned but said no more instead looking to her Grandmother who was surveying the scene.

“Well, it is up to me to choose team captains then?” she asked. A clash of thunder punctuated her sentence and Brienne jumped.

“Afraid of thunder?” Mr. Lyons asked her.

Sansa didn’t hear Brienne’s response over the next clash of thunder. Wincing, she looked up at the ceiling, where fake candles hung overhead. What were they going to do if the power went out?

Lady Olenna looked only mildly annoyed by the thunder’s interruption. “All right, Miss Walda and Mr. Stag shall choose teams. I shall play on whoever’s side is short.”

“It would only be polite to let Miss Walda choose first,” Mr. Stag demurred. “Ladies first, after all.”

Mr. Lyons covered his snort with a polite (and very fake) cough. He really was a terrible actor.

Miss Walda didn’t hear him, “Oh, I choose Mr. Lyons.”

“Miss Knight,” Mr. Stag requested.  Perhaps Mr. Stag was Brienne’s Guaranteed Austen Happy Ending.

“Miss Tyrell!” Walda crowed next. Margaery grinned and joined Walda’s side, sitting in between Walda and Mr. Lyons.

Mr. Stag looked disappointed about that. Sansa suspected they knew each other fairly well since Margaery seemed to visit often and Mr. Stag seemed to be the most senior of the actors. “Um, Mr. Hart?”

Brienne did not like that if her expression was anything to go by.

And neither did Sansa.

She was the last one to be picked.

That had NEVER happened to her before in her life.

Walda smiled at Sansa encouragingly though. “Miss Edwards, of course!”

Sansa stood next to Walda feeling very embarrassed as Lady Olenna joined Renly’s side. And although Sansa felt very bad for herself, being picked last, she somehow felt worse for Brienne, who looked very uncomfortable sitting in between Lady Olenna and Mr. Hart.

Sansa did not blame her.

Especially since the Charades they were playing was anything very unlike the stupid game her parents used to make her play when they were little.

“They did this in Emma,” Margaery said consolingly to Sansa as Lady Olenna explained the rules. “It’s not as hard as it seems.”

Margaery had probably grown up with this game though, Sansa knew. Grown up being prepped to one day run this house the way her Grandmother did. How… regency.

“Now,” Lady Olenna said sternly, “each charade, or clue, is part of a word, and also a word.”

What.

“An example, Grandmother,” Margaery pleaded for Sansa.

Lady Olenna didn’t seem bothered by the request. “Well, my first is a vibration, my second is a weapon of war, and the whole is the pride of this very nation.”

“Shakespeare,” Brienne said almost immediately, turning red as she did so.

Mr. Stag grinned. “This is why I chose her for my team.”

“I don’t get it,” Walda said, which Sansa was thankful for because she wasn’t entirely sure she got it either.

“Shake is a sort of vibration,” Brienne explained, “and spear is a weapon of war, and the pride of this nation is Shakespeare.”

“I thought it was Harry Potter,” Walda said.

Mr. Lyons burst out a laugh, only quieting under Lady Olenna’s scrutiny.

“Well,” he grinned shamelessly. “I would have thought it was Jane Austen.”

Brienne glared at him from across the room.

It was probably good they weren’t on the same team.

Margaery sighed, “Let me give another example, straight from Emma.”

With a clearing of the throat, Margaery spoke as if she was quoting directly from the book. It was almost as if she was on the stage. “My first doth affliction denote, which my second is destin'd to feel. And my whole is the best antidote, that affliction to soften and heal.”

Did Margaery memorize this random quote?

“Woman,” Mr. Lyons and Brienne answered together. Brienne’s glare dissipated and she only looked confused.

“I have read Jane Austen,” he said dryly in response to Brienne’s puzzlement.

“I don’t think I get it,” Mr. Stag declared, his brow wrinkling.

Margaery laughed. “You wouldn’t,” she said kindly. “The first affliction is woe, that the second clue, man, is destined to feel. And only a woe-man, woman, can save a man from woe.”

“And who is going to save woman-kind from the tedium of saving mankind?” Mr. Lyons asked.

“Dogs,” Sansa supplied.

The room erupted into laughter, save Mr. Hart, who still looked disgruntled.

But Sansa didn’t care, she felt as witty as Lizzy Bennet. And she couldn’t deal with a grump who refused to acknowledge it.

* * *

“So…” Sansa drawled.

Brienne was in Sansa's room. Finally they were having a sleepover. Sansa idly wondered if she could manage to make-over Brienne, but doubted it.

Brienne was not into makeovers.

“I kissed a servant here,” Brienne abruptly confessed, her blue eyes wide.

Sansa stared. “What?”

“Well, I suppose technically he kissed me, I really didn’t expect it at all, and, oh I don’t know, I don’t even think I like him! But he seems to like me a lot but I don’t know what to do. It doesn’t feel like a joke like it usually does. What could he get out of it? I just, I don’t know, Sansa. What am I doing?”

Sansa could feel her mouth turning into a wide, stupid grin. “YOU GOT A KISS! OH MY GOD, BRIENNE.”

“Shh, Sansa! Someone will hear you!”

“BUT YOU GOT SOME.”

“Sansa!”

Sansa was too delighted, so delighted that she had to jump up from her bed and hug Brienne, “I’m so proud of you.”

“You sound like a mother,” Brienne said dryly. “But what mother would congratulate their daughter on a kiss?”

My mother did, Sansa thought and was about to say so before remembering that Brienne’s mother had died long ago. Before Brienne really dreamed of kisses.

The smile on Sansa’s face lessened to the point that Brienne noticed the difference. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Sansa said. “I would just like to know who it is.”

“The stable boy.”

“Podrick?” Sansa asked, suddenly hurt. She had no reason to be hurt, but she was.

Brienne was aghast, “No, he’s younger than me! He’s much closer to your age than mine!”

Sansa laughed, “You act as if you and I are seven years apart rather than three.” Truly it was a little closer to four years but Sansa and Brienne chose to ignore this regularly.

“And what’s wrong with a younger man?” Sansa added thoughtfully.

Brienne shook her head, “Nothing, I guess, I just feel weird about it.”

“So, who then?”

“He helped Mr. Hart with your horse,” Brienne said dolefully. “He wasn’t handsome.”

Sansa bit her lip. As much as she adored Brienne and thought that Brienne deserved the entire world and Prince Charming and a castle and Mr. Darcy and ten thousand pounds a year and everything good and wonderful, the world would probably never agree. Brienne wasn’t going to get a handsome man for a husband most likely. As long as Brienne loved whoever she married, Sansa wouldn’t care, but sometimes it made Sansa so very sad that men only saw Brienne for her looks. They only saw the ugly.

But then again, didn’t men do the same to Sansa? It was, supposedly, in a better way, but how many times had she had to be rescued by Brienne or her brothers or Arya from creeps in a bar because of how pretty she supposedly was? No matter what the outer appearance was it seemed that it was the only thing men saw.

Only Jane Austen heroes, Shrek, and Disney Princes could really see past the outside to the inside.

Sansa sighed. “Do you like him at all?”

“I don’t think so,” Brienne confessed, turning pink. “I think I just liked that someone liked me.”

Sansa remembered the first time she was liked. Really, really, really liked. “I can understand that. It makes fools of us all.”

“Do you think I’m being foolish then?” Brienne asked, her eyes creased in worry.

Sansa attempted a smile, “Perhaps a little but we’re already half-fools already for being here in Austenland. Might as well go all in?”

Brienne frowned. “I don’t think I want to go all in.”

“Then don’t. Do what makes you happy, Brienne. You don’t do that enough.”

“Says the girl who dragged me to England,” Brienne pointed out dryly.

Sansa laughed. “Fair enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say here other than I actually adore writing Sansa. 
> 
> oh and, yes, Jaime is not so secretly a huge nerd. But c'mon, this is canon ;)
> 
>  
> 
> one last thing... ten points to the harry potter house of your choosing if you spot the harry potter reference! It's fairly subtle.


	8. Day Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne tries to enjoy Austenland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually really enjoy this chapter, imo, there's some pretty good Jaime/Brienne moments. 
> 
> So enjoy!

**Chapter 8**

_Rewind: Brienne’s Paper - AJA_

Catelyn Stark had never read a paper this good before, or at least that’s what the red pen said after the A+ and the smiley on Brienne’s twelve page essay which was titled: _Feminism and the Prince Regent_.

Professor Stark had smiled at her when she handed it back and muttered “See me after class.” When Brienne appeared at Professor Stark’s desk, feeling quite nervous — actually, stupidly nervous enough to accidentally knock Professor Stark’s mug off the desk. Apologizing profusely and turning bright red, Brienne almost wanted to run away but Catelyn Stark just waved it off and asked Brienne which Austen novel was her favorite.

Within the hour (an hour that was 98% Jane Austen and 2% Brienne still apologizing about the mug), Brienne was selected as Catelyn Stark’s TA for the next semester, starting Brienne’s life in a much more positive direction - a life that included good friends.

* * *

**_Brienne - Austenland Day 7_ **

Brienne awoke in Sansa’s bed, the sunlight streaming overhead.

She laid there for a moment, trying to enjoy the feeling of just existing. Not thinking, not feeling… just breathing in and out.

Sansa was still asleep, her red hair twisted into a halo over her head. She almost looked like a princess, but the drool coming out of her mouth definitely wasn’t very princess like.

Brienne made herself get up, not eager to be drooled on.

The wood floor was cold on her feet so she hopped over to the rug. It was only then that she remembered that all her day dresses were in her own room… not in Sansa’s. Brienne would have to somehow get back to her room without any seeing her in her pajamas.

Or maybe she could fit into one of Sansa’s dresses?

No, that would never work.

Sighing, Brienne gathered yesterday’s dress, put on her shoes, and opened the door, thinking it would be better to head back earlier rather than later. At least she’d be less likely to be caught earlier.

Hopefully.

But it wasn’t to be so. Margaery caught Brienne coming out of Sansa’s room immediately… but…

“Oh, uh, hello,” Margaery said. She looked taken aback by Brienne’s presence. She wasn’t coming out of her room, but Walda’s, Brienne realized. They must have stayed up and talked too. Brienne had not realized the two women had become so close.

Margaery, however, unlike Brienne, was wearing an appropriate day dress. “Hi,” Brienne said, embarrassed about her pajamas. “Sansa and I stayed up all night talking.”

Margaery relaxed into a smile, “Oh yes, same with me and Walda, to think we could have all had a giant sleepover!”

Brienne smiled back, “I guess we could have.”

Margaery went over to her own door, but then hesitated. “Do you need help getting back to your room?” she asked.

“I’ll be all right, thank you.”

Margaery’s smile quirked. “You’re quite welcome. But would you like a robe at least?”

Brienne shook her head, “No, I’m fine, I’d rather just hurry over there.”

“Well,” Margaery seemed amused, “good luck.”

Brienne smiled again, although this time it felt a little forced, and headed down the hallway. She knew it a little better now and was able to avoid the area where the actors (presumably based on her late-night encounter) lived.

Still, she stepped around corners carefully, peeking around before moving forward, not eager to run into any of the men.

Or Lady Olenna. Somehow running into Lady Olenna would be worse than running into the men. The woman almost felt like she could be her grandmother, not just Margaery’s. Perhaps it was because she actually treated Brienne like a person but…

“Wench!” Brienne heard Mr. Lyon’s voice cheerfully say behind her.

Brienne groaned and tried to hurry before he caught up, but he must have been closer than she thought because he grabbed her elbow with his left hand and turned her around.

“What are you doing in… well,” he looked over her t-shirt and women’s boxer shorts with a raised eyebrow and a growing smirk, “that. Quite scandalous.”

He was having too much fun so she scowled, “I was going back to my room.”

“From where?” he asked, his smirk dying. It was replaced by a… pout? No, that couldn’t be it, she couldn’t imagine Mr. Lyons pouting.

“Sansa wanted to talk last night and so we had a sleepover,” Brienne said, not sure why she was telling him this.

“Girl talk,” Mr. Lyons said dryly. “Well, that hasn’t changed over the centuries at least.”

Brienne scowled. “We talked about more than boys.” Sort of.

Mr. Lyons’ smile was a hard slash, “Did you talk about me?”

“No,” Brienne said honestly, remembering how they mostly talked about Hyle. It was actually strange… Sansa hadn’t wanted to talk about her romantic interests. And Brienne suspected Sansa had an interest in a particular “servant” from the way Sansa reached out to him during the picnic.

He rolled his eyes. It didn’t seem to fit his Regency wear. “No man wants to hear that he’s not talked about,” he told her. “At least lie to me.”

“That wouldn’t be honest.”

“That’s the point.”

Brienne was suddenly keenly aware that she was not in appropriate clothing and that he was still holding her arm. “I have to go.”

He didn’t let go of her elbow, “Hey, just,” he stopped suddenly, as if it was taking a great amount of effort to speak to her. But he didn’t need to bother, Brienne thought, almost irritated at him, so why was he trying so hard?

He finally spoke, “Be careful.”

“Of what?” Brienne asked, totally confused. What was there to be careful of in Austenland?

Mr. Lyons shook his head, finally releasing her, “Never mind. I’m not supposed to say much… anything at all really.” He hesitated again and Brienne felt her temper flare. “But,” he drawled, “I feel as you’re being lead on a wild goose chase.”

“What are you talking about?” Brienne asked, annoyed.

“Just stop talking to that ass.”

“What ass?”

Mr. Lyons groaned. “Oh my god, wench, think!”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Sorry, MISS KNIGHT,” he enunciated. Spit from his mouth almost hit her cheek and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Just think about what I said.”

Brienne glared. “I already have, but the only ass I can think of is you.”

He placed his real hand on his face, covering everything but his eyes, which were now closed in irritation. Presumably irritation, that is. “Please go before I do something stupid,” he said, his voice muffled by his fingers.

Brienne looked at him, totally mystified, and left for her room.

_What on earth was that about?_

* * *

She wasn’t able to find Hyle after breakfast, much to her discontentment. She just wanted to end it with him. It didn’t feel right exactly to have it so open-ended.

Brienne had been led on so many times that she understood the pain. Although she doubted Hyle would have THAT much pain, considering they had only known each other for a few days.

But still… it wasn’t right.

So she wanted to get it over with. She just wanted to peel off the band-aid and move on. Maybe she could just practice flirting with Mr. Stag now that she knew he was definitely very, very taken and very, very gay. That was the real point of Austenland right?

And it seemed as though Mr. Stag was her arranged Guaranteed Happy Ending so it would be all right to do so.

He had asked for her to be on his team during Charades, after all.

And he was asking for her now. He wanted her to be on his croquet team. Walda was sitting out of the game, choosing to sit and drink lemonade instead.

Margaery was also on Mr. Stag’s team which was actually wonderful since she seemed like she actually knew what she was doing. Brienne honestly had no idea what was happening, but she did want to win.

Mostly to beat Mr. Lyons’ team.

Mr. Lyons’ team was comprised of himself, Mr. Hart, and poor, poor Sansa. Sansa didn’t seem to mind as much as Brienne would have though, eagerly hitting the ball as if she was playing golf.

“Oops!” she cheerfully said when the ball ricocheted into an iron fence, “My bad.”

Mr. Hart looked constipated, a strange look on his handsome face, but smiled at Sansa despite that. “That’s all right, Miss Edwards.”

Mr. Lyons was grinning though. He didn’t seem to mind losing. Until he caught Brienne’s eye and then his smile flew away. “So, Miss Knight, are you going to try and defeat us?”

“Of course,” she said stiffly, still annoyed about earlier. She had been right about him all along, he was an Asshole. “What’s the point of playing if you don’t try to win fair and square?”

Within moments, Brienne felt herself entering a battle. Not of wits as she normally felt herself entering when Mr. Lyons was involved… a battle of croquet. Mr. Lyons’ smile was tight and vicious as he hit the ball with his mallet perfectly. Brienne mimicked his positioning until his smile was even tighter.

And then Brienne smacked the ball with the same sort of delicacy in which Margaery ate her breakfast… and hit the wicket, making Mr. Lyons’ false smile drop.

“You know this game isn’t even Regency Appropriate,” Brienne said clearly to her audience. “Croquet wasn’t popular until the 1860s, well after Jane Austen’s death.”

Margaery laughed, “Who cares? You’re kicking his ass!”

Mr. Lyons rolled his eyes, and smacked the wicket with his ball. “Have you even played this game before?” he asked Brienne. “Or are you unnaturally good at all sports. I bet you are,” he said, almost leering at her, “Especially basketball.”

“Do Englishmen even play basketball?” Brienne asked doubtfully.

“Sure, right alongside your stupid version of football.”

“It’s not stupid,” Brienne said, a former Powder Puff veteran. American football was one of the only things she could talk about with other people back home. “It just isn’t appropriately named.”

Mr. Lyons smile was almost contagious, “That we can agree on… _Miss Knight_.”

Brienne hit another wicket while the rest of them just watched. Mr. Lyons looked back at them. “Did you all suddenly decide you weren’t playing?” he demanded.

“This is much more fascinating,” Sansa said, joining Walda at the white wicker table, thanking the servant who poured Sansa a glass of lemonade. She sipped it with a look of sheer delight and Brienne suspected the look had nothing to do with the drink. Mr. Hart stood behind Sansa, looking faintly amused or, rather, as amused as Mr. Hart could manage to look. Mr. Stag and Margaery were more than just faintly amused, they were actually grinning.

It was good that they were going to be in-laws, they seemed to have a similar sense of humor, Brienne noted.

Mr. Lyons shook his head, “Whatever, I shall defeat Miss Knight and then you will rue abandoning me because I’ll get all the glory.”

“We’re fine with that,” Sansa called out, “We’re mostly watching for your banter.”

“It’s like a TV show,” Walda said.

Without meaning to, Brienne locked eyes with Mr. Lyons, and she could feel his mutual exasperation.

Brienne couldn’t help it — she looked away and smiled, before smacking her ball into the wicket. “I think I just won,” she said to her opponent.

Mr. Lyons didn’t seem that bothered, which surprised Brienne. She expected a sore loser… not a gracious one. “I concede to Miss Knight, the most heroic of all the Knights.”

Brienne resisted rolling her eyes, especially once he fell onto his knees proclaiming, “Miss Brienne Knight, the bravest, kindest, generous Knight in all of England!”

Mr. Stag was laughing so hard Brienne thought he might choke on the teacake he was currently eating, while the women were grinning wildly.

And for some reason, Brienne wasn’t bothered. She didn’t feel like the brunt of a joke. She almost felt included, even though Mr. Hart didn’t look as amused as the rest.

“Get up, stop being ridiculous,” she told Mr. Lyons, whose eyes twinkled at her demand.

“If you say so, Miss Brienne Knight.”

“Why on earth do you keep saying my full name?”

He grinned at her, looking almost more like a boy than a grown man. “Much more fun this way.”

Brienne couldn’t help it.

She grinned back.

Perhaps he wasn’t an Asshole. Maybe he was just an asshole.

This was further confirmed when he got up to join the others at the table. “I apologize for this morning,” he said on the way over to them. “That was indecorous of me.”

“Which part?” she asked.

A smile played upon Mr. Lyons’ lips. “All of it — does that satisfy you?”

“Only if you mean it,” she whispered back, keenly aware that the others were still watching them. And that they were walking quite closely to one another.

He laughed, “Then it should satisfy you, because I never say things I don’t mean.”

“I’m sure that’s a lie,” Brienne said.

“Maybe. I suppose you’ll have to listen to me carefully to find out.”

“I’d rather not — “ she started to say but stopped once they reached the table.

“So,” Sansa grinned. “Shall you two play another round? Best two out of three maybe?”

“It was quite enjoyable to watch,” Margaery confessed with an amused smile.

“Quite so,” Mr. Hart said, almost robotically. It was disorienting.

Mr. Lyons’ attention sprung to Mr. Hart, “I bet you enjoyed that.”

Mr. Hart actually, genuinely smiled. “I certainly did.”

Mr. Lyons rolled his eyes before grabbing the glass of lemonade that a servant handed him. “I wish this was stronger.”

“That could be fixed,” Mr. Stag said, his eyes looking wicked.

The Lady Olenna kind of wicked.

Mr. Lyons grinned. “You have some uh, crap, whatever," he struggled before finally giving up, "alcohol?”

Walda giggled, “If you do have some, I want it.”

“As long as it tastes good with lemonade,” Sansa said, almost primly.

“It’s vodka. Straight from the tsar’s pantry,” Mr. Stag winked, as he poured a dash of it into everyone’s glasses.

After filling everyone’s glasses, Mr. Stag turned to Brienne. “Miss Knight, you don’t have a glass of lemonade, would you like one?” Mr. Stag asked with a another ridiculous wink.

Brienne shook her head and then stopped. “Well,” she hesitated, feeling a bit silly, “yes to the lemonade, no thank you to the alcohol.”

Mr. Stag laughed but gestured a servant over to pour lemonade into a glass for her. Mr. Hart looked very unimpressed by her choice not to imbibe but Brienne didn’t really care about his opinion.

Mr. Lyons, however, was watching her so carefully that she found that the hair on her neck was rising. “What?” she finally demanded after a careful sip of her drink. “What is it?”

“Just surprised,” he said, his voice lowering. No one was paying them mind, too amused by one of Margaery’s stories about London that sounded entirely made up.

It probably was, Brienne reminded herself.

“By what?” Brienne asked, her tone matching his.

He was silent for so long that she wondered if he didn’t hear her. “I don’t know,” he finally said.

With that puzzling answer, Brienne looked away from him and back to the rest of her company…. no, she realized, smiling, _her friends._

* * *

Brienne finally found Hyle after afternoon tea, right before supper was about to being. For some reason he was situated in the garden, right on the path she normally took on her walk. Somehow, during the week, Brienne found herself taking the same path in the garden nearly every day.

And somehow Hyle knew of it.

“Um, hello,” Brienne said, trying not to look directly at him.

“Are you avoiding me?” he asked with a grin.

“No, I actually looked for you this morning. And I couldn’t talk yesterday, not in front of everybody. I didn’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Hmm,” was all he said, as if mulling it over.

“And,” she continued feeling braver, “that’s actually why I wanted to talk with you. I don’t think is a good idea.”

“Who cares if it’s a good idea?” Hyle asked, his eyes wide and excited. His grin was nearly contagious, “I like you, you like me.”

“That’s just it, I don’t think I do. Not in that way,” she quickly added, noticing how his expression dropped into shock. “And I don’t want you to risk your job, the one you just got, for a girl who doesn’t even know if she likes you really.”

Hyle was quick to respond. “You don’t know? Or are you just suppressing your feelings for me?” he asked, coming closer to her.

Brienne backed away, annoyed at herself for doing so. She stood up straighter as if to prove she wasn’t going to be bothered, “I’m not suppressing anything. I just don’t like you that way, now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be late for dinner.”

Hyle’s flashed with… something. Brienne couldn’t tell if it was sadness or something else, but he grabbed her elbow, almost the way Mr. Lyons did that morning, but Mr. Lyons’ grip had not been so tight.

“If you don’t let go in ten seconds, I will have to knock you out,” Brienne informed Hyle quietly. She was already thinking about her plan of attack.

“C’mon Brienne,” Hyle said, his grip loosening, but not letting go completely.

“Ten.”

“Brienne —“

“Nine.”

“Fine,” he said, letting her go. “Go off with your adoring menfolk.”

Brienne looked at him hard and decided she didn’t like whatever was there.

Not even as a friend.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

Hyle looked as if he wanted to mutter several horrible replies to that and Brienne suspected most had to do with her looks, but he kept quiet, as if he was remembering that he actually liked her. Brienne did pity him then.

“I am sorry,” she said, “But it wouldn’t be right to lead you on.”

His expression was a strange mixture of surprise and sadness. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t be.”

* * *

For some reason, possibly because she had basically “broken up” with Hyle, Brienne felt fairly morose the rest of the evening.

She was annoyed by this. She finally felt included and yet here she was, sitting by the piano, watching Sansa and Margaery sing a duet and Walda play, and not able to smile at all.

“You should sing,” Mr. Lyons murmured.

“No.”

A smirk grew on his face and she wondered if she had accidentally planted it there. The way people accidentally dropped seeds in patches of dirt and suddenly, without anyone caring for it, an entire plant grew where there wasn’t supposed to be anything at all. “Come on, you’re in a poor mood, singing might help.”

“It would make it worse,” she whispered, “And, shh, it’s rude to talk during a performance.”

“People did it all the time in Jane Austen.”

Mr. Lyons was remarkably well read regarding Jane Austen, even for an actor playing as a Regency gentleman. “Doesn’t make it less rude,” she responded after he nudged her with his prosthetic hand.

“Suggest a game then.”

“Why? All I want to do is go to bed.”

“Are you really going to cry over him?”

She looked at him so fast it felt as if her neck was going to snap. Trying to be discreet, she hissed, “What?”

His smirk wasn’t as wide as it was, it looked more like a dying plant, droopy and latching onto the last bit of life. “I saw you through the window. Did you forget that the house overlooked the garden.”

“Saw me or watched me?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes!”

“Miss Knight… Mr. Lyons…” Lady Olenna’s voice drawled, “Care to share something with the rest of us.”

“Miss Knight wants to sing a duet with me, although our lovely Miss Grey will have to play for us,” Mr. Lyons responded faster than Brienne thought humanly possibly, his smirk alive and wicked.

“I don’t want to do that!” Brienne protested but Mr. Stag stopped her.

“Oh but you must, I’ve been dying to hear your dulcet tones," Mr. Stag said.

Only Sansa seemed concerned. “If Brienne doesn’t want to sing, I’ll do it.”

Mr. Hart patted Sansa’s hand, “Your voice is beautiful but we don’t want you to overdo it.”

Sansa scowled and Mr. Hart quickly retracted his hand.

“I’d like to play again!” Walda said, still sitting at the piano. “What do you want to sing?”

“I don’t want to sing anyth—“

Mr. Lyons knocked his elbow into her side. Not hard, just enough to make her stop talking.

“I’m not singing,” she said defiantly, glaring at the infuriating man.

“I can sing!” Walda said, grinning at Mr. Lyons. “Sing with me, Mr. Lyons.”

Mr. Lyons smiled back but it didn’t seem genuine to Brienne. “All right, since Miss Knight doesn’t seem interested in singing.” He looked back once more as if to try and goad her to do it.

Brienne didn’t budge, “No, Walda should sing.”

Walda beamed and then grabbed Mr. Lyons’ arm… the one with the prosthetic limb. Walda had never touched that arm before, Brienne realized as a frown appeared on Walda’s face. It wasn’t a mean frown, just a confused, pondering one.

But all Mr. Lyons saw was the frown, Brienne knew. It was all she saw when people saw her face for the first time. The frown they have when they’re trying to figure out how to respond to her poor looks. She watched him wince and slowly take back his arm.

Lady Olenna was watching the scene with a careful eye. “Jaime…” she finally said in a warning hush.

Jaime… that was his first name, Brienne remembered. Mr. Lyons flushed but then threw on a careless smile, “Yes, Lady Olenna?”

Their hostess was silent for a moment. “What do you plan on singing?”

“I was going to let the young lady decide,” Mr. Lyons said, looking down at Walda as if he just saw her. “Well, Miss Grey?”

“Um, uh.” Brienne had never seen Walda flustered before. “Ok, how about a hymn?”

Jaim- Mr. Lyons’ smile tightened even as Walda’s grip on his arm disappeared. “Sounds perfect, Miss Grey.”

Walda smiled at him, but it was a fearful one.

Brienne looked over the rest of the room... they had all fallen silent to watch the proceedings. Margaery and the men didn’t look surprised about Mr. Lyons’ arm but Sansa’s eyes were wide and confused.  

This was going to be a long, sad song, Brienne thought, as Walda began to pluck the keys with careful consideration. No matter what Walda picked, it was going to be much too long… and much too sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who couldn't figure out the Harry Potter reference in last chapter it was when Jaime said, "Everywhere else is full." 
> 
> And I hope you enjoyed this chapter. There are a lot of little things going on during it, so I can't wait to see if people pick up on everything, especially after the story is finished.


	9. Day Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa knew there was a legitimate reason why Jane Austen didn't like private theatricals.

**Chapter 9**

_Rewind: Sansa’s First Jane Austen Novel_

Her mother handed the book to her on her thirteenth birthday, smiling almost nervously. Sansa looked at it skeptically and wasn’t very impressed by the cover which was two girls in weird clothes sitting by a mirror.

It was titled Sense and Sensibility and nearly six months passed before she finally gave it a try.

And twenty pages later, Sansa was hooked. But no one else was. When she tried talking to Arya about which one of them was more like Elinor or Marianne, Arya only snapped at her. Sansa gave up on her sister and went to Jeyne who found the language difficult to decipher and so gave up cheerfully. Jeyne couldn’t even get through the movie adaption.

So Sansa finally went to her mother, out of sheer desperation, “Am I more like Elinor or Marianne?”

Catelyn looked Sansa over from top to bottom and sharply smiled, “Definitely Marianne.”

“Does that mean Arya is Elinor?”

Her mother laughed and, instead of answering her question, handed Sansa another Jane Austen novel.

This one titled Pride and Prejudice.

* * *

**_Sansa - Austenland Day 8_ **

Sansa couldn’t help but stare at Mr. Lyons’ hand at breakfast.

It wasn’t real! How did she not notice beforehand?

Was that why Brienne had been touching it the other day when they all teased her? Why didn’t Brienne mention that Mr. Lyons didn’t have a real hand?

Mr. Lyons didn’t seem to be aware of Sansa’s glances at his gloved prosthetic, too busy charming Walda. Although Walda only seemed to be half-interested, the other woman was focusing much more on Margaery’s story that was half-innuendos and sexual references.

Mr. Lyons gave up then and accidentally met Sansa’s eyes. She blushed and looked away and instead found her gaze concentrating on Mr. Hart.

He smiled genially at her, but all Sansa could feel was mild annoyance. He opened his mouth to speak to her but Sansa was saved by the arrival of Lady Olenna.

“I have good news for you all,” Lady Olenna pronounced. “We shall be working on a theatrical that my grandson wrote.”

“Your grandson?” Sansa asked.

“Yes, he’s a talented young man,” Mr. Stag said cheerily, his cheeks tinged pink. Brienne’s were also a little pink for some reason.

Mr. Lyons only coughed and Sansa could swear it was masking a laugh.

But at what?

“Yes, my brother couldn’t make it this trip,” Margaery said.“Although he may come by next week.” Brienne glanced at Mr. Lyons who, in return, waggled his eyebrows at her. What was going on?

Margaery continued, deliberately ignoring whatever was happening with Mr. Lyons and Brienne, “He’s a talented writer and decided to write something up for all of us.”

“Based on the legend of Troy,” Lady Olenna said.

“Like the movie?” Walda asked.

“It wasn’t a legend, exactly,” Brienne said, her blue eyes shining, “there’s enough historical evidence to prove that something happened.”

“Yes, professor,” Mr. Lyons said. His grin was wide and handsome and aimed directly at Brienne.

Brienne only rolled her eyes, but did it look less annoyed than it typically did?

Did Brienne actually like Mr. Lyons?

There had been quite a bit of flirty banter the day before but, still, Brienne only lovingly rolled her eyes to people she really liked. As people, not necessarily as romantic interests.

This was interesting.

“Well,” Lady Olenna said, her eyes carefully watching the table. Sansa suspected that Lady Olenna didn’t miss much. “It will be mostly focused on the Trojan side. Hector, Helen, Paris -“

“Paris was a jerk,” Brienne said, although she looked surprised that she said it out loud. Sansa was a bit surprised too. Brienne typically kept her opinions to herself unless she was in a small group of trusted individuals and even then she often kept quiet rather than rock the boat unless her values were being crossed in some way.

“I don’t know about that,” Mr. Hart piped up. “It was love wasn’t it?”

“The things we do for love,” Mr. Lyons muttered. His real hand played with his butter knife delicately, twirling it around his fingers.

“It’s too bad that Achilles isn’t involved, for you would do well at that,” Margaery said to Mr. Lyons.

Mr. Lyon’s frown broke into a spoiled, awful smile that did nothing to settle Sansa’s unease. “What part shall I play instead then since I can’t be the heroic Achilles?”

Lady Olenna looked over him cooly, “I will put the names in a hat and you shall all pull one out. Males in one hat, females in another.”

“Jolly good,” Mr. Stag said, looking eager.

Sansa wondered if it was weird to play two parts at once.

Mr. Hart nodded, “This sounds like a wonderful diversion.”

“Can we pick out our parts now?” Walda asked Lady Olenna, her hands eagerly clapped together.

Lady Olenna nodded and a servant appeared, as if he was bid by her nod. He held two hats in his hands and Sansa could see slips of papers inside.

“The parts are, for the females: Cassandra, Andromache, Helen and Penelope.”

“But Penelope was in the Odyssey, not the Illiad. And she’s not Trojan,” Brienne pointed out.

“Nerd,” Walda coughed.

Brienne bit her lip. Sansa knew Walda said that in jest, but she wasn’t sure if Brienne realized that.

“You’ll see how it’s dealt with, once you pick your parts,” Lady Olenna informed her. “Now, for the men the parts are Paris, Hector, and Apollo. Granddaughter, dear, would you start the honors on the female side? And Mr. Hart, I’d appreciate if you started it on the male side.”

Mr. Hart pulled out his card, “Apollo,” he grinned. “I’m a god.”

“You do know that he was a rapist?” Mr. Lyons said.

“Mr. Lyons!” Lady Olenna said.

He held up his gloved hands, “Sorry, he ravished Daphne and tried to do the same to Cassandra. Let’s not gloss over the facts.”

“But it’s a myth, there aren’t facts,” Sansa said, carefully. She felt as if she was dancing on top of knives any time she spoke to Mr. Lyons.

“Doesn’t make what Mr. Lyons said incorrect,” Brienne said, staring at her breakfast. “It’s what happened… in the myths.”

“Well,” Mr. Hart sniffed, sounding annoyed. “I doubt that this will happen in Mr. Tyrell’s play.”

“Theatrical,” Margaery said, “And now let me reveal my part as Penelope. I always did love her.”

Sansa had a sneaking suspicion that Margaery cheated to get the part. Maybe she even bullied her brother into writing Penelope into the story.

“Your turn, Miss Grey,” Margaery said, handing the hat to Walda. Mr. Hart handed the other hat over to Mr. Stag, reaching over Mr. Lyons’ head to do so. It was an insulting thing for Mr. Hart to do but Mr. Lyons only yawned in response.

“I’m Helen!” Walda announced. Brienne exhaled and smiled. “Isn’t she like the most beautiful woman ever?” Walda asked.

“Good casting then,” Mr. Lyons responded, almost robotically. But Walda beamed at him while she handed the hat over to Sansa.

Mr. Stag cheerily announced his own casting, “I’m Paris.”

“I suppose that makes me Hector,” Mr. Lyons said, not bothering to take the hat. He placed his face in his hands as if he couldn’t bear the thought.

Sansa pulled out a name. “I’m Cassandra.” Great, stuck with Apollo.

“We shall be working together probably then,” Mr. Hart said grinning at her. He looked handsome when he smiled, boyish and happy. Sansa almost wished she could like him when he looked like that.

Brienne bit her lip, “Does that make me Andromache?”

Although most of his face was covered by his hands, Sansa could still see Mr. Lyons’ eyes crinkle in a smile. Andromache was Hector’s wife, Sansa recalled from her dusty high school memories. That meant Mr. Lyons and Brienne would have to work together as often as Sansa would have to work with Mr. Hart.

This wasn’t going to be fun for anyone. 

Except, perhaps, Mr. Lyons.

And Margaery.

* * *

“This play is the most watered down bullshit  I have ever read,” Mr. Hart said to Sansa when they were alone to practice their scene.

Sansa, unfortunately, agreed with him even as she was annoyed at him for outwardly cursing.But still, he had a point, after all, Cassandra didn’t speak to any of the women in this play — none of the women spoke to each other (Jane would have been horrified). Penelope dreamed of Apollo who told her of her husband’s battles, Apollo tried to flirt with Cassandra and woo her over, Hector and Andromache spoke of their love to one another (poor Brienne), and Helen and Paris basically made very unsubtle sex jokes the entire time. Shakespeare was more subtle about his dick jokes than Mr. Tyrell.

“I thought Margaery said that her brother was a good writer.”

Mr. Hart snorted, “He is, but he obviously wrote this as a joke.”

Sansa didn’t bother to ask how Mr. Hart knew that Mr. Tyrell was a good writer. “I suppose we should get started. Since we’re supposed to show off the theatrical in three days.”

“Yes, my dear, let’s.”

“Don’t call me that,” Sansa said. “I don’t know you well enough for endearments like that.”

“I suppose you’d let that servant boy call you that.”

Sansa stared. “Are you actually bothered by me talking to that _man_? What is wrong with you?”

Mr. Hart pouted, “You should be charmed by me.”

Sansa kept staring at him, almost unable to really see him, she was so distracted by her annoyance. “Oh my god, he’s nice to me! I’m nice to him! We’re nice people.”

Mr. Hart placed his gloved hand on hers, “Aren’t I nice?”

She pulled away incredulously, “No!”

The pouty look was back. “But —“ he started to say but Sansa raised her hand up to stop him.

“Let’s just get this over with, please.”

“Fine,” he snapped, his eyes glazed over with impatience. “Why won’t you love me?”

Sansa nearly jumped off the bench. “What?”

“That’s the line,” he smirked.

She glared at him, but decided not to respond as Sansa, but as Cassandra. “I do not love you, I cannot help it.”

“I have blessed you with prophecy.”

“You have cursed me with prophecy for no one will believe me.”

“They would if you loved me,” Mr. Hart said, his plea so heartfelt and believable that Sansa had to stop.

“Do you really believe that it was all right for Apollo to do that?” she asked him.

“To do what?”

“Blackmail her into loving him? Goad her with gifts and then make them nightmares?”

Mr. Hart shrugged, “I don’t really know or care if it was right. It’s what he did and so I have to sell it.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes, “I see.” She listened to a bird chirp in the distance before finally smiling. “You really are a good actor, Mr. Hart.”

“Sansa —“ he said, quickly catching up to the double meaning.

“Miss Edwards!” she corrected.

“I don’t care about Apollo or propriety or anything else, I just need you to know of my genuine interest in you. I like you,” he smiled.

In another life, Sansa might’ve swooned at the sight of that smile. It was everything a smile should be. Bright, clean, endearing — his eyes even glowed when he looked into her eyes. Her heart pounded at his stare.

But for some reason, her heart didn’t feel as if it was pounding as hard as it should be.

“Let’s just practice the scene,” Sansa said, pulling her eyes away from him.

* * *

Nearly two hours went by with stupid comments from Mr. Hart coming out of his mouth nearly the entire time. Every time he spoke of his genuine interest, Sansa believed him a little less.

Finally, she begged off the scene, mentioning something about meeting with Brienne for an afternoon ride, and got away.

“Excuse me?” she spoke to a plain guy around her height. He looked at her thoughtfully and Sansa idly wondered if this was the guy Brienne had kissed. But it couldn’t be, he was much too short.

“Yes, Miss?” he asked with extreme patience.

“Is Podrick here?”

The man’s eyebrows raised and he began to laugh. “Why are you looking for him?”

Sansa folded her arms. Why was he laughing? “I’m his friend.”

He kept chuckling, “All right, I’ll grab him. Just wait here.”

The man left, but quickly came back, with Podrick in tow. Sansa grinned when she saw him.

He smiled back although it was a little hesitant.

“Have fun, Pod,” the man laughed, waving them off.

Sansa walked next to Podrick silently, feeling almost a bit silly, as he took her on a walk on a country lane. It was quite a pretty area, with woods on the left and rolling hills on the right. He looked good in his clothes, weirdly better than she remembered.

“Are you doing well?” she finally managed to ask.

He nodded, very deliberately, as if he wasn’t sure what she wanted. “I am, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

It was silent again until she started babbling. “Um, well, I just wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” he asked as he climbed up a hill.

Sansa followed, feeling bubbles of irritation and embarrassment gurgling in her stomach, “About everything, nothing, anything! I like talking to you.”

“You’re not having fun here are you?”

“No I am with the girls, and in group situations, but when I’m paired off —“ Sansa broke off.

“With Mr. Hart, right?”

“Yes! Him. He drives me crazy.”

Podrick smiled conspiratorially, “I don’t like him either.”

“He’s a jerk!”

“He’s not very nice,” Podrick agreed.

Sansa grinned. “Brienne doesn’t like him either.”

“That’s your friend, right? The really tall one that Jaime, I mean, Mr. Lyons likes?”

Sansa stopped in her tracks. “What?”

“He’s always paying a lot of attention to her.”

“Isn’t he her assigned character?”

Podrick shrugged, “I don’t know about any of that. I try not to pay attention. Better to not get involved.”

“That’s… actually very understandable,” Sansa said, thinking it over. “But you think he likes her?”

“He smiles more with her — I don’t know if I’ve seen him smile so much with anyone else since he’s started working here.”

Sansa grinned. “That is a good sign.”

He paused. “You might not want to tell her this though. I’ve been wrong before about stuff. With Mr. Lyons’ brother, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I thought his girlfriend loved him more than she did. She liked him, she liked him a lot actually. Enough to say no when he asked her to marry him because she didn’t love him and she thought he deserved someone who loved him, but she was dating him mostly for his money and all the gifts he gave her. I think she felt awful about it all by the end.”

“That’s horrible. He went off to Europe right?” Sansa remembered.

“Yeah, he’s in the Mediterranean. Doing whatever Tyrion does.”

The name Tyrion crinkled something in Sansa’s brain. “Why do I know that name?”

Podrick turned red. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, but how do I know that name?” she asked, persistent. 

Podrick answered, although his face drooped miserably. “He runs a film production company.”

“LIONFILMS!” Sansa said excitedly, “Don’t they work with the BBC a lot to make classic novel adaptions?”

Podrick nodded, still miserable looking. “Yes.”

“I’ve seen his name on the credits as an Executive Producer so many times while watching different adaptations — I don’t know how I forgot it. Tyrion Lannister! So that makes Mr. Lyons... Mr. Lannister?”

“Yes.”

“And isn’t Lannister… a huge, global company that sells medical instruments?” Sansa knew this because her father often complained about how Lannister Co. price gouged hospitals. Since Sansa’s father’s company was dedicated to research (specifically medical research), this often caused an issue for his business. And, Sansa supposed, her own.

“Yes.”

“What on earth is Mr. Lyons doing here?” Sansa asked even though she already knew the answer.

“You’d have to ask him that,” Podrick dodged.

“Maybe I can get Brienne to ask about it.”

“No, please don’t tell her any of this,” Podrick pleaded, grabbing Sansa’s hand. Her heart pounded at the rush of contact, their fingers intwined. He looked as disoriented as she felt, but he kept going, “I shouldn’t have said anything to you.”

“Why did you then?”

Podrick stared, looking almost distraught. Sansa pitied him. “I… I don’t know.”

She squeezed his hand, “I won’t tell anyone. Even Brienne. I promise.”

He squeezed back and before Sansa could stop herself, she kissed his cheek. The stubble felt oddly nice against her lips. Typically she hated the feel, she always made her ex-boyfriends shave when they kissed her, but with Podrick it felt good. His cheek was so warm.

Sansa heard him sharply inhale as her lips left his cheek and then their eyes met. She felt so very close to him.  His arms were around her waist, although when he did that she couldn’t say, and she felt safe. Safer than she had ever with any of her ex-boyfriends.

But also afraid.

Afraid of what, Sansa wasn’t sure, but the fear was there pressing against her heart, making it beat faster and faster while Podrick looked at her with such wonder and kindness.

She loved him.

That’s why she was afraid. How could she fall in love this fast? She had known him for only a few short conversations and a few short days. This wasn’t a Rodgers and Hammerstein’s musical. She couldn’t even compare it to Jane Austen because not even Jane’s heroes and heroines fell in love this quickly. Not even Marianne did and she was the most overly romantic of them all.

He let her go as if sensing something was wrong and Sansa smiled at him, trying to ease her nerves.

“Can you tell me more about you?” she asked, “I don’t feel as if I know you very well.”

“I’m an orphan,” he said quickly as if trying to pull the band-aid off for her quickly. He looked more concerned about her than about himself.

“I’m sorry,” Sansa said, “That must be hard.”

“It happened when I was young. I barely knew them,” he said.

“Any siblings?” Sansa asked, thinking of her own. She missed them suddenly. All of them. Even the ones who weren’t really siblings at all like Jon and Theon.

“No,” Podrick said, “I always wanted some.”

Sansa cracked a smile. “You can have some of mine.”

He grinned shyly, “If you’re sure they’ll have me.”

“I’m more worried that you won’t take them,” Sansa laughed. But now she couldn’t help but imagine Podrick meeting all of her siblings. They would love him, she knew.

Robb and Theon would persistently try to get Podrick to open up, Arya would talk to Podrick about horses, Bran would just get along with him like he got along with almost everyone. Jon and Podrick had such similar quiet dispositions that it was hard to imagine them NOT liking each other, and Rickon, well, Rickon was Rickon. As long as Podrick played video games sometimes, Rickon would be happy to talk to Podrick.

“I wish you could meet them,” she said, looking away from him. Sansa could barely see the house now, they were so far off in the country, but the hill that they had climbed was high enough that she could see almost everything. “Did we just walk a mile?”

“Two, I think,” Podrick replied. “Sansa, I —“

Sansa’s heart roared, almost like a car engine when the accelerator was pressed. What was he going to say? Did he love her too?

“I think we should get back before they start wondering what happened to you.”

Sansa hid her disappointment. “Of course.”

Podrick grasped her hand again, “I’ll help you down the hill, it’s quite hard —“

And then he tripped and fell, bringing Sansa down with him.

Sansa sputtered with laughter once she realized what had happened. Podrick was laughing too.

“Well, I look like a proper lady,” she grinned, pointing out the mud stains in her dress. And she chose to wear a cream colored dress today too. Oh well.

Podrick was further down the hill from her. “I think I tore a hole in my pants,” he said, examining his knee.

“I could fix that,” Sansa said. “I’m very good with a needle and thread.”

“No, I should take care of it,” he said, “What will you do when they discover you with a man’s pants?”

“Who cares?” Sansa asked. “I can mend it easily. It’ll look like there was never a hole there.”

Podrick got himself up the ground, steadying himself enough to help Sansa up. She was so glad that she wasn’t wearing gloves today. His hands felt so nice against her own, callused and strong. “Only if you’re sure,” he said, although Sansa detected that he was actually quite happy about it.

Especially since he was still holding her hand.

They may have been on the edge of a muddy hill, but Sansa felt on top of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comment that Jaime made about Apollo was my own passive-aggressive thing regarding the S4 Jaime/Cersei rape. (I'M STILL MAD).
> 
> ANYWAYS, cough, in regards to Sansa being "in love" well, just wait and see in regards to that. She and Brienne still have two more weeks in Austenland. Quite a few things are still in store for our heroines even if they're finally feeling settled. 
> 
> And lastly, the next chapter will not be coming until at least a week and a half. I'm going out of town so updating will be near impossible. 
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos and lovely reviews! I really appreciate them!


	10. Day Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne has trouble understanding attempts at flirting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All JaimexBrienne interactions all the time. Seriously this chapter is all (and only) Jaime and Brienne.

**Chapter 10**

_ Rewind: Brienne’s First Job - BJA _

Brienne was eleven when she took on a babysitting job. Her next door neighbor desperately needed someone to watch her two toddlers after finding out that someone in her family had a heart attack. The two year olds were devilish creatures who chewed on everything including their own feet, but Brienne offered her services anyway, eager to help one of the only people regularly nice to her. 

When the neighbor came home seven hours later, exhausted and prepared to see the worst, she was surprised to see Brienne sitting by herself in the armchair, doing her homework.

The toddlers were asleep and had behaved fairly well for two year olds, Brienne told the older woman whose shock was slowly spreading all over her entire face. 

“You’ll be a good mother one day,” Brienne’s neighbor finally said, when she stopped staring.

But one day had yet to come.

* * *

**_ Brienne - Austenland Day 9_**

“Why do I have to see your face all day?” Brienne demanded, throwing the script at Mr. Lyons’ head. She would have felt worse for doing that if he didn’t deserve it. But, he did deserve it. Very, very much. After all, every other word that came out of his mouth was insulting to her in some way.

“It’s a good face, I think,” Mr. Lyons smirked. It was an engaging, beautiful smirk and Brienne wanted it to **stop.**  

“You have a bad face,” she told him, her arms crossed over her meager chest. Although she was wearing a corset today so it didn’t look as meager as it typically did. “Because you have a bad heart.”

Mr. Lyons was gathering the script she threw when he heard her comment, and his smirk widened“And how would you know of my heart? Have you fallen in love with me and my bad face while I wasn’t looking?”

Brienne groaned.

“I’ll take that as a yes. But, dear, Amazonian Brienne—”

“Miss Knight!" 

“Brienne Knight,” he said, dropping the script into her lap ungratefully. She shot him a sharp glare, but he ignored it, “It is a shame, but you can’t have me, for I am promised to another.” He sighed mournfully and dramatically fell into the grass, his eyes closed.  

Brienne was about to ask who but stopped when he opened his eyes and winked.

Infuriated that she got taken in by his Regency bullshit, she said, “I feel sorry for whoever you’re fictionally promised to.”

“I promise she’s real. She just lives in Canada.” 

Brienne couldn’t help it. She laughed and although she tried to make it sound derisive, she knew Mr. Lyons saw through it.  She wasn’t good enough at acting to fool him.  “Let’s just practice our scene before I kill you,” she said, carefully avoiding looking at him… and his _bad_ face. 

“Maybe you’ll kill me in our scene,” he said, “I wouldn’t know I haven’t really read it.”

“But-“ Brienne sputtered, “We decided to go to our own rooms to read our lines before practicing today!”

“Your face becomes remarkably red when you’re angry,” he said, “almost like a tomato. No, no, a —“ 

“Please stop,” Brienne said. How could anyone talk so much about nothing? “Let’s just do the lines.”

“Or else you’ll kill me.”

“Yes, I will.” Brienne shifted her feet. The longer she sat on this stone bench the more she wanted to get up and leave. 

Because she really was considering murdering him… or at least punching him really, really, _really_ hard.

“As you say, wench.”

“Miss Knight.”

“All right… Brienne.”

“Miss Knight!” she bellowed at him.

“Jaime.”

“Miss — what?”

He smiled at her. “Call me Jaime. My name isn’t Miss Knight after all.”

“That’s not really appropriate, Mr. Lyons,” Brienne muttered, looking away from him. She glanced down at the script but wasn’t really able to see anything but the dark lines and white paper. For some reason, it was hard to read when she could feel his stare.

“And my name isn’t really Mr. Lyons,” he muttered. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to hear that or not, so she tried to read the script instead of showing her interest. “Well, wench, —“

“Brien— I mean, it’s Miss Knight!” Brienne said, feeling her cheeks redden _again._

_“_ Can’t we ditch the formalities? Are we not husband and wife?” Mr. Lyons winked. 

As if there was a universe where a man as beautiful as Mr. Lyons would have a wife as ugly as herself, Brienne thought glumly. “Speaking of that, could we work on the script instead of my name?”

His stare felt heavier and Brienne deliberately didn’t look up, not eager to see the expression on his face. 

“Fine,” Mr. Lyons sighed. “From the beginning? And I warn you, I’m not a good actor.”

Doubtful, Brienne thought, looking back up at him. Even now, just sitting on the bench reading the script, his chin in his left hand, Mr. Lyons almost looked like a Greek statue. 

Achilles probably would have been a better role than Hector.

But even thinking that, she was amazed to see the change that overcame Mr. Lyons once he began reading for Hector. Because he was a good actor, no matter how he tried to hide it. Her entire life, Brienne imagined Hector with dark hair and dark looks, but now, she wondered if she’d ever be able to manage that again. Hector was blonde with green eyes now.

What did that say of his role here? Was he someone else entirely in the world outside of Austenland?

“Well, was that good enough for you?” Mr. Lyons asked after the third read through. He was frowning and yawning all at once.

Brienne nodded, “That was fine, you can stop and go if you’d like.” She flipped back to the beginning of her own lines and started to read them again.

“Well, if you’re still up for more, I’ll read through it again,” he said. “I have great stamina.”

Brienne did not look up. She somehow knew he’d be ready with a smirk. “That’s fine,” she said.

Mr. Lyons groaned, “Come on, this doesn’t matter. It’s not like anyone is going to care if we screw up.”

“I’ll care.”

“Why?” he demanded. His body edged towards her, sliding, coming closer with every punctuated word. “Why does this stupid thing matter?”

Something in Brienne snapped from his probing and she stared at him. “I don’t want to be the one who messes up.”

“I’ll mess up if you do, we can mess up together!”

He didn’t get it. “But it won’t matter if you mess up!” she said, frustrated. 

“That’s because they already expect me to. They already expect everyone to. This shit of  play doesn’t matter. Loras— Mr. Tyrell’s play is terrible so it doesn’t even matter if we’re terrible.”

Brienne grimaced at the script. What Mr. Lyons said was true, the script was terrible. “Why did everyone imply that he was a good writer?”

“I’ve read his stuff in magazines — books, oh whatever,” Mr. Lyons groused. “That stuff is good. This feels like he came up with it over a weekend and that the only reason he wrote it because his grandmother told him to.”

Brienne sighed. “Well, that is probably what happened.”

“Possibly,” he agreed, “But that’s why we shouldn’t worry. If not even the writer cares, why should we?”

“But —“ she argued, but Mr. Lyons stopped her.

He hopped off the bench, and put out his left hand, “Come along, Brienne, let’s take a walk and stop thinking about this play.”

Grudgingly, she took his hand and got up. He didn’t let go immediately, so she broke the contact, uncomfortable with their bare hands touching. “Where would you like to walk?”

“Perhaps we can go to the kitchens and see what they have for us to eat?”

“You’re joking.”

“I never joke.”

Brienne eyed him skeptically and he grinned. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”

* * *

There was no one in the kitchen when they arrived. 

“Jackpot,” Mr. Lyons said, opening up the fridge. She couldn’t see his head, only his Regency pants, as the door of the refrigerator hid the upper half of his body from her view. 

It was… weird to see a man in a Regency costume grab food out of the fridge. Disconcerting even. 

“Here’s a pear for you and one for me and — “ he stopped speaking after throwing her both pears and dove into the freezer door. Miraculously, Brienne caught both. 

“Pizza Bagels!” he cheerfully proclaimed. “The only good American food.” 

“Are you kidding?” Brienne asked, “Pears are fine, but pizza bagels?”

_Not Regency Appropriate._

It was as if he could read her mind for he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Sit down at the table. I’m hungry and I can’t take anymore ‘appropriate food’. In London I eat what I want.”

“So you’re from town,” Brienne said, desperately clinging onto something Regency Appropriate. 

Mr. Lyons only laughed at her attempt. “Sure, if you’d like. Now, let’s talk about you.”

Brienne had just bitten into her pear and almost choked on it. “Me?” she cried out once she swallowed. “Why me? Why not you?”

“Because I know it was you and your friend who eavesdropped on me a few days ago with Olenna,” he said after preheating the oven and sitting down next to Brienne at the table. His knee knocked into hers and she moved aside, nervous from the contact. “I spotted your large head as I left the room.” Brienne gaped but he ignored this, “So now you owe me your own backstory.”

“Did you tell Lady Olenna?” Brienne was angry about how small her voice became, but Mr. Lyons only seemed amused, his green eyes lighting up. 

“I won’t tell her if you don’t tell her I’m eating pizza bagels with you in the kitchen.”

Brienne sighed. That was fair. “Deal.”

Mr. Lyons held out his left hand for her to shake and so Brienne did, ignoring the odd way her fingers tingled when she touched him.

“Now the second part of the deal is that you have to call me Jaime in private and I have to call you Brienne in private, this is why you read contracts, dear Brienne,” Mr. Lyons joked, biting into his pear gleefully.

Brienne glared. “That’s ridiculous.” 

“That’s ridiculous, _Jaime_ ,” he corrected. 

“That’s your name, not mine.”

He grinned, the juices from the pear still on his lips. Brienne tried not to look. “I knew you were funny.”

Brienne had never been called funny in her entire life. “Are you making fun of me?” she demanded.

“No, I thought that’s what you were doing to me,” he said, before jumping immediately to another topic. “So, Brienne,” he said, ignoring her protesting groan, “backstory.”

“I grew up off the coast of North Carolina,” she said robotically, “Went to college, graduated, got a job, made friends, one of said friends made me come here.”

Jaime— damn it, Mr. Lyons grinned. “That’s a really shitty backstory.”

“Well, I don’t know much of yours other than you have a missing hand and you were in the military and that your father bet on you to work here? What kind of father do you even have?”

“Oh, so your father wouldn’t bet on you in a poker game? How pedestrian.”

“Jaim- I mean, Mr. Lyons!” He only grinned at her mistake before taking another bite of his pear. Brienne was thankful for this because she wasn’t sure how much more of his comments she could take without hitting him really, really hard. “Can’t we talk about our fictional backstories for our characters?”

“Andromache and Hector? They already have backstories.”

Brienne wasn’t sure how she wasn’t screaming. “Not them! Our Austenland alter-egos!”

“I’m me here. And I suspect you are too. Although your friend Sansa, oh, no, I’m sorry, I should say Miss Edwards, shouldn’t I? Well, she and the rest seem to be playacting well.”

“You don’t have any sort of backstory for Mr. Lyons?” she asked desperately

“Do you have one for Miss Knight, other than the one provided for you by Olenna?” he asked pointedly. At her silence, he shook his head, “I thought not.”

“Well, you should! You’re an actor!”

“No, I’m not, and you know that. Well, I guess I am one here,” he frowned, “But I’m not really one at all. Oh, time to put the pizza bagels in!”

He got up and leaned over and Brienne was greeted by his ass. If this ass had been attached to anyone else she would have discreetly admired it, as it was an attractive one, but as it was she could feel herself burning up with embarrassment and annoyance and tried to turn away from him. Unfortunately, the chair squeaked and revealed her movement.   And so Mr. Lyons knew she saw. “Are you admiring my bum?”

“No! Definitely not!”

His laughter was more grating than the creaking noise the chair had made. “Sure.”

“I wasn’t!”

“I suppose when it’s time to take the pizza bagels out you’ll get up and bend over to get them so I can enjoy the view. Fair is fair after all.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“A lot of things, mostly genetic, although maybe some are environmental. If you met my family you’d understand.”

“Fine then, tell me about them. In Regency terms please,” Brienne said while he sat down next to her again. Mr. Lyons was closer to her now then he was beforehand, his knees beside hers, his elbow almost smacking into hers, his face staring up at her in a mixture of amusement and… something else. 

She didn’t know what it was. Annoyance? No, the way his eyes looked, it wasn’t annoyance. Boredom? 

“My family hates each other. I’m the only one who loves them all,” he finally said. “To my own misfortune, I suppose.”

“And you were really in the military?”

His answer was short. “Yes.” 

“It didn’t go well?” she asked, trying not to look at his prosthetic hand.

“Yes, but not for the reasons you think.”

That was curious, but Brienne wasn’t sure if she wanted to know that much about Mr. Lyons. She sniffed the air instead, “I think the pizza bagels are done.”

“The timer would go off. Do you really want them undercooked?”

“Does it make that much of a difference.”

Mr. Lyons was affronted. “Of course it does!”

“Sorry.” She wasn’t sorry.

Before Mr. Lyons could respond with another impertinent quip, a voice carried into the kitchen. An off-key, female voice was singing the most inappropriate lyrics. “IT’S GETTING HOT IN HERE —“

“That’s probably Walda,” Brienne said, not even surprised anymore. She was resigned to this life now.

“Or Margaery,” Mr. Lyons added, his lips twitching. He looked nice when he was trying not to smile. 

“Aren’t you supposed to call her by her name.”

“Margaery is her name.”

“You know what I mean! Miss Tyrell!”

“I’m Jaime, not Miss Tyrell, you might need your eyes checked, Brienne.”

Brienne buried her head in her hands and Mr. Lyons ignored her — the over was beeping. “The pizza bagels are done!” he cheerfully said. “Your turn to get them out.”

Brienne looked back up, confused. “What?”

“What do you mean what? You ogled my arse, time for me to ogle yours.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes at him, feeling like the literal butt of the joke. “No.”

“Well, I’m not going to do anything about them.”

“They’re your pizza bagels! I don’t want any!”

Mr. Lyons tutted at her. “It’s only polite, Brienne.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Okay, wench.”

Brienne let out a quiet scream and Mr. Lyons grinned. “You’re a child!” she said to him, not sure if she was irate or just annoyed. 

“And children can’t open oven doors without burning themselves. Plus, who knows what will happen to my prosthetic if I take out the pizza bagels — it may even melt!”

Brienne was 99% sure that his comment was utter nonsense, especially since he had placed the pizza bagels into the oven, but found that out of all of his stupid comments, it was the most persuasive. “Fine,” she uttered, “But don’t do... don't stare at me."

“Fair is fair, Brienne,” he said, smirking.

She kicked his shin as she got up from her chair. “Oops.”

“So violent. That’s not Regency Appropriate at all.”

“We’re eating pizza bagels and you’re calling me by name. I think we passed Regency Appropriate long ago,” she said, squatting next to the oven instead of bending over. Less ass for him to jokingly ogle. 

“Then call me by name,” he said. “It’s not a difficult name to say. Jaime.”

“Sounds French.” Like his fake surname.

Jaime— Mr. Lyons scoffed, “Excuse me, Jaime is a very popular English name.”

“Well, I took French in high school and it sounds French. It sounds like —“ At that Brienne stopped, remembering the meaning of j’aime and blushing. She instead busied herself over the pizza bagels, placing them on a platter. “Well, never mind what it sounds like.” He’d just make a joke out of it. 

“Well, bring over the pizza bagels wench.” 

Brienne debated about just leaving the platter on the counter. “They’re too hot to eat.”

“I want to smell them.”

“You’re very strange,” she commented, bringing the platter over carefully. “Are you going to eat all of these?”

“Maybe,” Mr. Lyons said, smiling. “But I was hoping you’d eat some too.”

“I’m really not hungry anymore. The pear was enough.”

“Surprising considering your size.”

Brienne stilled. He noticed this and frowned. “Most people with your type of body frame are usually hungry more often, but you seem fine with three small, square meals a day.”

Brienne shrugged, still a little hurt from his acknowledgement of her size. “It is what it is.”

“Why do you say that like a beleaguered old man who has seen too much? Since I’m the old man in this room, I think you’re stealing my line.”

“Speaking of lines, shouldn’t we practice ours?” Brienne asked, feeling as though everyone else was probably working. Except maybe Walda and Renly since Walda was apparently singing “Hot in Here” somewhere in the house.

“Plenty of time for that, we have days.”

“And then… there’s a ball at the end right?” Still so much of Austenland left to go. Brienne was half-sure she was going to call Professor Stark begging for a way out soon. 

But Brienne supposed if she made it through the Hyle mess, she could make it through the rest. 

“Yes, on your last night here. And then after you all leave in the morning, we get new guests and the whole thing starts over.”

Brienne examined Mr. Lyons as he stuffed his third pizza bagel in his mouth. “Aren’t those hot?”

“I’m hot so it evens out. Homeostasis or what not.”

Brienne rolled her eyes, “I’m pretty sure that’s definitely not how it works.”

Mr. Lyons rapidly changed topics. “So aren’t you curious to know whose pizza bagels we’re eating?”

“Whose pizza bagels you’re eating. I’m not touching them.”

Mr. Lyons ignored this. “It’s Harry’s. You know... Mr. Hart.”

Brienne thought this over and grabbed a pizza bagel. Mr. Lyons grinned. “Shut up,” she commanded before stuffing the pizza bagel in her mouth.

It was really good actually. Refreshing after all the Regency meals she had been forced to eat. Because as delicious as they were, it wasn’t pizza on a bagel.  Mr. Lyons' grin grew wider and Brienne was horrified to realize she moaned with delight. “Shut up,” she said again, her mouth half-full of pizza bagel. Brienne chewed and swallowed the rest quickly to stop him from opening his mouth. “Don’t you dare say a thing.” 

Mr. Lyons reached over and patted her hand, his grin lessening. However, his lips were still slightly quirked. “It’s all right, I won’t tell everyone your sex noises.”

Brienne groaned and Mr. Lyons laughed, “I won’t even mention that one.”

“How are you so inappropriate all the time?”

Mr. Lyons shrugged,  “It’s what I do.” He took another bite out of a pizza bagel.

“Well, stop it, Jaime,” she snapped.

Mr. Lyons stopped mid-bite, his eyes wide and Brienne realized what she said. “I mean, Mr. Lyons,” she said, trying to recover.

But he just smirked at her. “All right, Brienne.”

Brienne mentally gave up. “Fine, call me Brienne but only when we’re rehearsing in private.”

“That sounded dirtier then my comment,” Mr. Lyons said. “Rehearsing in private? Why Brienne, I never realized you wanted to do such a thing with me.”

Never mind Hyle, how was she going to survive the rest of Austenland with Mr. Lyons at her throat at all times? Brienne mentally counted down. 

10\. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1.

And then exhaled. 

Mr. Lyons noticed this. “Are you ok?”

“Just could you stop, please?” Brienne asked, feeling exhausted from the battle of wills she had unwittingly engaged in… yet again. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

Mr. Lyons frowned and stared into her eyes. She felt naked as his gaze crawled from her eyes onto her nose and her lips, naked and embarrassed of her strange body with her broad shoulders and her stupidly long limbs and torso.

“Let me finish this pizza bagel and then we’ll practice,” he finally said. “If that’s all right?”

“Sure,” Brienne said, relieved that his gaze fell back to his own food.  Relieved and more than a little disappointed.

The rest of the day passed by quickly, with his comments going back to the bare minimum, with one or two straying over the line. It was nice at first but it didn't feel right. 

She missed his stupid comments by the time dinner occurred, with the rest of the Austenland group smiling and laughing. He barely said a word and it made Brienne nervous. The new set of cold manners he gave her only made her feel like she did something wrong by asking him to stop. But what else could she do? All of his words had felt like little pinpricks and she felt as if she was going to bleed out if she didn't tell him to stop. Was she a masochist for missing his commentary? The jokes at her expense? 

It was as if Brienne was walking on a path full of sinkholes and every time she avoided one, she fell into another. That was what interacting with Mr. Lyons was like. 

Yet...

She couldn't say what it was but it was something, _something_ that made her feel like she was almost having fun when they talked even though she was mostly only dodging his words. This was strange because other than writing, she was never very good at words, dodging or otherwise. But somehow, he made her feel like she was. Like he enjoyed dueling with her in these strange bouts and maybe that was what she liked about their conversations. It was as if these... disagreements allowed her to be honest with him, to be herself. To state what she truly felt.

As Brienne snuggled herself into her much too soft bed, she supposed it didn't really matter much at all. She would keep rehearsing with him and, most likely, by tomorrow he'd be harassing her about something stupid. Perhaps it'd be another argument about the different versions of football. Perhaps it'd be a discussion on why Mr. Hart was annoying, Brienne couldn't say or even guess. 

But despite all of his annoyances, Brienne really was looking forward to talking with Jaime.

She blushed and hid her head under the covers. Even thinking his name made her feel wrong, after calling him Mr. Lyons for so long. Yet it felt weird thinking of him as Mr. Lyons now too. 

Austenland was really much too confusing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Hot in Herre" (the real spelling) thing is a nod to the Austenland film. It's a hilarious scene, please find it on youtube, you really don't have to watch the whole movie for it. 
> 
> And in regards to the JxB stuff, this is the chapter where, imo, Jaime is realizing that he's actually attracted to Brienne and is trying to actively flirt.... which ofc she's pretty oblivious to. Before in this story he was unconsciously flirting although still very intrigued by her. Brienne's always an immediate object of interest to Jaime, imo, because she is so very different, not just in looks but in the way she treats everything.
> 
> ALSO: j’aime means love, or I love, or I like, in French (basically anyways, I'm no expert). When I recalled this, a while ago, I was like holy crap GRRM you absolute nerd. Since Jaime, the idiot he is, is a fool for love (familial, romantic, and friendship), I was astounded by the perfection of the name for him. And I’ve always wanted to somehow mention it in a fic or something. So here it is. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter and I hope this author's note wasn't too distractingly long.


	11. Day Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tries to be brave.

**Chapter 11**

_Rewind: Sansa’s Most Recent (and probably dumbest) Boyfriend_

He was a redhead like herself (causing Theon to make many inappropriate jokes _**just**_ out of Robb’s earshot) and a year younger than herself. This boyfriend laughed off Theon’s jokes with the sort of good-natured smile that Sansa had always been desperate for. Not only that, but he was also really hot, blessed with broad shoulders and a six-pack.

But dear God, had their even been a man so dull? Even Mr. Collins would have been more exciting.

It wasn’t that he didn’t speak to Sansa, oh no, it was quite the opposite  — he spoke much too often and often condescended to others. The things he said to Brienne and to Jeyne were horrifyingly inappropriate and Sansa wondered what she did to deserve a boyfriend this embarrassing.

And to top it all off — he dumped her! It should have been the other way around, Sansa knew, but she just enjoyed looking at him a bit too much to be the one to dump him.

_~~ Plus the sex wasn’t half bad. ~~ _

* * *

**_Sansa - Austenland Day 10_ **

Sansa glanced down at Podrick’s pants with satisfaction. The hole in the knee was completely gone, thanks to her quick sewing skills. Even with the practicing and the long meals, and Mr. Hart’s badgering, she had finished sewing up Pod’s pants within a day.  

And so now she had a reason to see him again.

She smiled, feeling quite silly and serene all at once. 

And she was alone so she could feel as silly as she pleased. There was something comforting about wearing a dress that Elizabeth Bennet could wear (well, maybe not as Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but at least as Mrs. Darcy) while sewing the man she — Sansa blushed — loved’s pants. It felt incredibly right and domestic and lovely. 

Everything she really wanted in her life was right here.

Until they left.

But Sansa wouldn’t think on that for now. There was still time. 

Plenty of time to know Podrick better. To love him more. 

Sansa had never been in love before, but she was fairly sure this was it now. The thought of him made her heart race but that wasn’t _it_ , she had never felt like this about any of the boys she had liked before, and she has liked so many boys throughout the years.

He was special in a way she couldn’t describe with words.

And so when she set off to find and return the pants to him, she decided she wouldn't tell him her feelings with words, but with actions. Like her father did for her mother. 

Like all true heroines and heroes did with their lovers. 

_ She would kiss him. _

And so, determining this action set the course of her day. She had to somehow avoid being cornered by anyone else, for she had to accomplish this today, before her nerves overtook her senses. Or rather, before her _sense_ overtook her _sensibility_. 

He was fortunately easy to find.

Unfortunately, Mr. Hart had found Podrick first.

Poor Podrick was bent over in the dirt, weeding or something (Sansa had thought he was a stable hand but perhaps Pod was an all around handyman), while Mr. Hart loomed over him, like one of the strange Greek statues that stood by, haughty and proud. 

Suddenly Sansa truly understood Elizabeth Bennet’s early dismissal of Mr. Darcy.

“You’re not planning on doing this all day are you?” Mr. Hart demanded Podrick, while Sansa hid behind a large shrubbery, eavesdropping. “I have to rehearse with Miss Edwards.”

“Lady Tyrell told me to — “

Mr. Hart scoffed. “Then do it later. Or do some of your other chores. I have real work to do.”

Sansa glared at Mr. Hart from behind the leaves. Real work? She was ** _REAL WORK_**? 

She’d show Mr. Hart what real work was. 

Podrick pushed himself off the ground and grabbed his spade. For a wild moment Sansa wondered if Podrick would strike Mr. Hart, but Pod just bowed (sarcastically?) and headed off.

Right towards Sansa.

She buried herself a little more in the bushes and so he passed her by without seeing her. If Mr. Hart wasn’t so close by, she would have revealed herself to Pod, but she didn’t want to deal with Mr. Hart. Not now.

So she followed Podrick to his destination, as soon as she saw that Mr. Hart’s attention was away from the scene, with light steps so she wouldn’t alert anyone to her presence. 

Podrick noticed her anyhow. 

“Miss Sansa,” he said reflexively, before correcting himself. “I mean, Sansa.”

Sansa smiled at him and felt at home. “Hello, Podrick. I wanted to give these back to you.” She handed Pod his pants and he stared down at them, quietly. 

She wanted to ask if he was impressed with her sewing, if he, well, had missed her in the last day, how his own day was doing, but said nothing, waiting for him to speak first.

He did not disappoint. “I cannot even see the tear,” he said, impressed.

“I know,” she said, stepping closer to him. He didn’t notice, his eyes fixated on the spot where his pants had once been torn. She could see a dash of freckles on his cheeks, like little polka dots on her favorite dress. “I told you I was good at sewing.”

He met her eyes then and almost look startled to see how close she was, his eyes wide and guileless. “Sansa —“ he started to say but Sansa stopped him with a smile and pressed her lips against his. His lips were rough and chapped but Sansa didn’t mind until —

She was suddenly pushed away. Not hard, not really, but it still hurt her.

“What are you doing?” Podrick asked, holding her shoulders far from him so that she could not lean and attempt another kiss. 

“I — “ Suddenly Sansa couldn’t speak, seeing only worries and regrets in Podrick’s eyes, the eyes that had, just moments ago, once been her favorite feature of his. His beautiful eyes now only struck with pity. Oh, Sansa could not bear it. 

She tore from his grip and ran as fast as she could in a Regency day dress, almost wishing she had worn a bonnet only so she could hide her face from the world better. She almost felt that the shrubbery and trees were reaching for her, trying to stop her, and so she ran faster until she finally tripped and fell by the steps of the manor. 

Groaning in embarrassment more than pain, Sansa could already feel a bruise developing on her knees. She got up, brushed off the dust, and held her head up as high as she could, and tried not to cry as she entered Highgarden.

She could cry when she was alone in her room.

That was what a heroine would do.

* * *

After a long shower, in which Sansa whimpered and cried on the floor like a stupid girl in stupid movie, Sansa finally felt a little bit better ( _how did people live without indoor plumbing and hair dryers?_ ). 

Her heart still hurt, as did her knees, but she looked clean and pretty and bright — like she had never had her heart bruised. 

Mr. Hart had sent a card to her room, requesting to rehearse and Sansa felt that she ought to oblige him, if only to get her mind off Podrick.  She might even flirt with him or at least smile, pretending as if, as if —

As if her heart wasn’t paining her. 

As if her soul wasn’t crushed.

Perhaps she was being melodramatic, but still, everything hurt inside. It took all of her effort not to wail into a pillow. Or punch a pillow. But she had to be calm. She had to be serene and smile as if nothing was wrong. 

_Because nothing was wrong._

She was a Stark and Starks did not fall apart at the seams because of a boy. Arya certainly didn’t, at least.  

Or maybe she did. They never really talked about boys… or rather they never really talked about Gendry, the only boy that Arya ever seemed interested in. Sansa didn’t even know if her sister was dating Gendry or not.

No one did. Everyone was too afraid to ask.

Theon did once and he got a kick in the shin for it. While this was more than five years ago, Theon swore that his shin still hurt when it rained too hard (no one believed him).

Sansa swept her skirt up as she walked down the stairs. Margaery, Brienne, and Walda were all at the bottom, discussing something so intently that they did not even notice Sansa until she stepped beside them.

“Hello?” she said, fairly confused as to why they were all standing there. “Why aren’t you rehearsing?”

Margaery glanced Sansa over with a smile. “I just finished rehearsing with your Mr. Hart. My role is mostly a solitary one so I get to practice by myself.”

“Shouldn’t we practice all together at some point?” Brienne asked, her face red and blotchy. It must have been nerves, Sansa realized. “Like a dress rehearsal?”

Walda shook her head at Brienne. “I told you we don’t need one!”

Sansa’s head was starting to hurt. “I think I need some pain medication," she said before Brienne could argue with Walda.

“Are you hurting?” Margaery asked with concern. Then, with a quirk of her eyebrow, “Is it that time of the month?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, it’s not that, I, uh, finished that up before I came here thank goodness.” Sansa did not want to get her period while in the Regency era. She did not think she could deal with that. “Just a small headache." 

Margaery smiled. “There should be some pain medication in the kitchen,” at this Brienne blushed for some odd reason, “on the counter by the stove, hidden in a biscuit jar."

“A biscuit jar?” Walda demanded. “Why do you need that?”

“Oh sorry, I mean cookie,” Margaery amended for her American audience. “The cookie jar.” 

“Thanks,” Sansa said. “But I’ll be all right, I think.”

She hoped.

Sansa left the other women, who started up a discussion about linguistics (well, Margaery and Brienne did, Walda just sighed heavily), and went to find Mr. Hart, hoping that the rehearsing would distract herself from Podrick’s rejection. And, if Sansa just looked at Mr. Hart, the sting almost went away. He was very handsome, but he also drove her absolutely insane… and not in the Elvis Presley hip gyrating way. 

He was sitting in the parlor, his head bent over a novel. She couldn’t say what it was, the gold lettering on the front was too small for her to see. It looked old though, perhaps even older than Lady Olenna.

She sat down at the wooden chair across from him and he looked up. “Ah, Miss Sansa,” he said politely. “Are you ready to rehearse? Would you like to go outside again?”

Remembering how Mr. Hart reprimanded Podrick for just doing his job, she almost said no, but then remembered that whenever Walda did decide to rehearse, that she’d and Mr. Stag would want this room.

They ‘claimed’ it after all, on the first day. Mr. Stag had been very pleased when he ran to the room, for a moment Sansa had wondered if he’d place a flag with his sigil on the fireplace mantle, but he just grinned at them all. Mr. Lyons only snorted and took Brienne by the elbow, while Mr. Hart guided Margaery and herself out the door, just speaking about how pleasant it was outside today.  And so now, they rehearsed outside. Every day so far.

“It is a nice day,” Sansa sighed, not really meaning it. Although it was actually very nice out. “I suppose we should go outside.”

“We can do anything you like, Miss Sansa,” Mr. Hart declared, shutting his book hard. “We don’t even have to rehearse today, if you’d like. We can go on a walk.” 

Walking only reminded Sansa of Podrick and she almost cried. “I’d rather read, like you." _To distract myself_ , she thought. "What are you reading?”

Mr. Hart gave her a smile. “I decided to brush up on my Gothic horror. What would you say if I was reading a novel by the notorious Mrs. Radcliffe?”

Sansa laughed, remembering how Jane poked fun at those types of novels. Sansa had been so curious about them, after reading Northanger Abbey, that she even spent an entire summer reading all of the Gothic novels mentioned by Catherine Morland. “I’d say good choice, sir.”

He looked happier than Sansa had seen ever seen him. “Why, thank you. I prize your opinion, Miss Sansa, so I rejoice to hear of your approval.”

“I feel as though you’re making fun of me, Mr. Hart.”

His eyes twinkled. “I only speak the honest truth." 

Sansa resisted rolling her own eyes, but when he got up and offered to guide her to the library, she took his elbow. 

Sansa Stark may not like Mr. Hart, but, _perhaps_ , Miss Sansa Edwards would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I caught up on myself and just started the semester so a lot of things are up in the air for me re: real life. I'll be settled down soon enough though and I think the chapters will be coming out quickly once again (and I actually have the ending to this story written up although it's quite possible that a lot of it will change, still I love it as of right now). 
> 
> As always, thank you guys for your reviews and kudos! I treasure them!


	12. Day Eleven

** Chapter 12 **

_ Rewind: Brienne’s first and only “boyfriend” - aka the asshole known as Ronnet Connington AJA _

It had taken years before Brienne truly had a boyfriend — twenty-five years. This wasn’t that unusual, Sansa told her repeatedly during late night conversations on the Internet. Most people just hooked up and didn’t really have a relationship until college or later. 

But Brienne didn’t ‘hook up’. Brienne hadn’t even had sex. She was a virgin and afraid that was what she’d be known for the rest of her life. She didn’t want to be the ugly virgin. She had always been the ugly virgin. Not that being virgin was bad — it was the combination of the two together that terrified her.

Ugly she could never change. Virgin she could.

Theoretically. 

She somehow managed to hook Ronnet Connington - a man a few years older than herself... a man that tended to leer more than look - through one of those stupid dating apps. Brienne didn’t exactly _like_ him, but felt at least that she knew what she was getting into.  So when Brienne found out that he had slept with someone else when they were supposed to be exclusive (before she even had a chance to lose her v-card), well, she was surprised by how much it _hurt._

And when she confronted him, all he did was laugh at her, dumping the roses he bought for the three month anniversary at her feet.

Brienne deleted the dating app not long after and opened up a copy of _Emma_. Fictional men were much better than real ones, she decided, after a long night of trying not to cry. But when Brienne reached the Box Hill scene, all of her tears were released in a wave of pity for poor Miss Bates.

As well as herself. 

_ An old maid forevermore.  _

* * *

 

**_ Brienne - Austenland Day 11 _ **

Brienne didn’t want to rehearse today.

While Mr. Lyons ( _Jaime_ , his voice sternly rang in her head, _my name is Jaime_ ) had begun to act better yesterday, in more ways than one, she had been so relieved when Margaery found them and begged for Brienne’s assistance. 

Eager to oblige, to get away from Jaime's, **_Mr. Lyons’_** odd looks and stares and cold comments as much as to help her friend, Brienne rushed after Margaery, whose eyes were twinkling. 

“I suppose I should tell Grandmother on you — about how much you two flirt, I mean,” Margaery smiled. 

Brienne ignored this, remembering how girls in school used to try to rile her up with false accusations about boys and how reacting only made the cruel teasing worse. “What did you need help with?”

Margaery muttered something which sounded like _“You’re no fun”_ but her smile continued to sparkle as she asked for Brienne’s help reaching a book from the highest bookshelf.

This lead to other troubles including an argument with Walda about linguistics, Sansa running off to meet with Mr. Hart with a peculiar look on her face, and Margaery teasing Walda about her American-isms. 

Brienne had been glad when yesterday ended, but now that today was beginning, she didn’t want to get up at all.

What if it was just like yesterday? What if Jaime—Mr. Lyons— _JAIME_ was cold and aloof like yesterday? What if he still misunderstood what she meant when she told him to stop?

The new maid came into her room. Miss Mordane had been reassigned to take care of the ladies once Margaery told her grandmother about the comments Miss Roelle had said to Brienne and Walda. Lady Olenna had not been pleased about it, Margaery had told Brienne in a hushed voice, and wanted to fire Miss Roelle on the spot and was still thinking of doing so.

Brienne almost wished Lady Olenna had done so for now she felt as if she needed to check her back at every corner, as if Miss Roelle was going to attack her with a kitchen knife.

Miss Mordane was nearly as strict as Miss Roelle, but her wrinkled face was kind and she looked at Brienne with sympathy rather than distaste. Sympathy wasn’t much better after a lifetime of it, but Brienne still preferred it over the other option.  Miss Mordane tightened Brienne’s stays (which was a relief after the week or so of corsets Brienne had been forced into) and helped her into a calico print day dress and grabbed the blonde extensions for Brienne’s hair.

Brienne backed away. She was tired of wearing the extensions. She didn’t feel like herself in them. “Do I have to?” she asked Miss Mordane, feeling like a little girl. 

Not that Brienne had ever really been little. Even as a small child she towered over the older children. People were so distracted by her height that they forgot her age as they pushed her into the older kids’ karate classes. She was only five and she was forced to “fight” eight year olds because of her height and build. Brienne stuck with it, eager to learn more about how to defend herself, but she didn't make any friends doing so, the other children either resentful or afraid of the not-so-little little girl. 

Miss Mordane pursed her lips but threw the hair extensions aside. “I dislike them too,” she confessed. “We shall just curl the hair you have, it may not be Regency Appropriate, but it will look a lot better than those cheap things.”

Brienne smiled, grateful. “Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me,” Miss Mordane huffed, although she looked rather pleased. “Just hold still.”

It wasn’t long before Brienne was out the door, her short hair curled up like little springs. Brienne thought she almost looked more ridiculous like this than with the extensions, but it was better than wearing the hair extensions again. 

And it was probably better than letter her hair lie limp as she typically did at home. Brienne just didn’t understand how to deal with hair. She grew up with a brother and a single dad. Add in the fact she didn’t have very many female friends growing up, well, it was nearly impossible for her to attempt hair. Brienne tried youtube videos from time to time but she always ended more disheveled than before. 

So at least the curls looked sort of nice, although they were truly springy. Every time Brienne touched one, it went back to place so quickly that it was as if she had never touched the curl at all. 

Breakfast was nearly empty, it seemed that everyone but Lady Olenna and Mr. Hart had chosen to sleep in or eat alone. Mr. Hart was in a hurried discussion with Lady Olenna and they both looked so serious that Brienne had left the room as soon as she had entered, not interested in interacting with either of them. 

She almost went to the kitchens, remembering where the kitchens were, but scolded herself for thinking of it. Instead, she went to the library, hoping to chase off her hunger with stories. 

The library was beautiful and Brienne regretted not spending much time there. It was filled with sunshine and old books. They all looked to be collectors’ items, nothing from beyond the year 1900. Brienne smiled when she saw a copy of Oscar Wilde’s _Importance of Being Earnest_ surprised to see even something that recent there, when a rare copy of Chaucer’s  _Canterbury Tales_ caught her eye.

As she reached for it, a prosthetic hand grabbed it first. Brienne could feel Jaime at her back and wondered when he came into the room. His breath tickled her ear. “Why aren’t you at breakfast?” he asked.

“Why aren’t you?” Brienne shot back, feeling foolish as she did so. She escaped him with a twist and found herself staring into his green eyes instead. 

He was so handsome — _so beautiful_. Expressive green eyes, a chiseled jawline, cheekbones that were sharper than a blade — it was truly almost terrifying to look at him head on. But Brienne was no coward. She stared at him, even though she desperately wanted to look away from the man. 

For she was keenly aware that he was a _man_. A man disguised as a gentleman with his cravat, jacket, and high-waisted pants that almost left nothing to the imagination.  Brienne felt her face turn red at the thought and Jaime smirked — as if he knew what she was thinking. Did her gaze fall to his pants without her knowledge? Or did he just assume the worst of everyone?

“I’m here to read a book,” he said, “I’ve already eaten breakfast.”

“I had something,” Brienne lied.

Her stomach, miraculously, did not rumble with hunger. Jaime eyed her doubtfully, “If you say so.”

She jerked her head down in a strange sort of nod. “I do.”

His hand reached up and she drifted backwards, keenly aware of how close they were, and how inappropriate it was. “Your hair,” he said, although Brienne could not tell the tone. Did he hate it? Like it?

Why did she care?

She braced herself for a cruel comment. “What about it?” 

“It’s nice,” he said, curling his finger around a strand. He somehow, impossibly, was closer to her now than before. “Much nicer than before, but that’s not much of an improvement is it?”

Was that a compliment or an insult? “Why can’t you just be nice?” she scolded. 

His nose was nearly touching hers now. “I am a nice man.”

“Are you quoting Star Wars at me… again?”

He backed away with a laugh and Brienne desperately wished he hadn’t, although that was stupid of her. Jaime was an actor as much as he pretended otherwise. “I’m glad someone gets my references,” he said. “Wald— Miss Grey never does.”

“Well, I imagine that’s not her cup of tea,” Brienne said delicately, wondering what Walda actually liked. Movies and actors, but what kind? “And you probably don’t say the obvious ones.”

“True enough,” Jaime grinned, looking like a god come down to earth. Brienne looked away then, unable to bear his beauty any longer.

Unaware of this, or pretending to be, Jaime asked, “When would you like to rehearse today? There are only two more days.”

“Two more days to the theatrical and around a week until the ball, correct?” Brienne asked instead of answering. She reached for the Chaucer book now, desperately needing to hold something.

“Yes,” Jaime said, “I’ve told you this before, Brienne.”

Brienne didn’t bother correcting him, remembering her strange deal with him from two days before. “And we’ll be mostly learning the dances?”

“That and doing whatever you like, especially you since you’re not a premium package. The others will have nicer gowns, learning to play the different sort of cards, and all that.”

“I thought they already had a loo lesson?” Brienne remembered that it was two days ago, because she ran into Margaery while leaving the kitchen. Margaery is the one who recommended checking the library while the lessons were in place. 

“Loo, whist, you name it. And don’t forget the portraitures they’ll receive soon.”

Brienne shuddered. She did not mind missing any of those... especially the portraitures. She did not need to see her silhouette - no one did.

“I agree, you were made for a different sort of art form,” Jaime said. 

Brienne did not even want to guess what quip he had up his sleeve. “How about we just rehearse now?” she said, dodging his comment. “We could get it done and have the rest of the day to do whatever we feel.”

“Like read?” he pointed out the book of Chaucer, his eyebrows raised almost comically. “I did not realize you were so well read.”

Brienne’s temper took the bait. “I did not read only Jane Austen growing up,” she scowled, “I read a lot of things!”

His face was incomprehensible. “But she was your favorite.”

Brienne looked down to Chaucer, wishing she could say that Chaucer was her favorite. “Yes,” she said miserably.

“I would hope so, since you spent your money to come here,” he said.

Brienne raised her head. “I didn’t though,” she corrected, feeling as though she had to say this to him. “I couldn’t afford it. Sansa’s mother paid for it… she wanted me to watch out for Sansa.”

Jaime laughed. “She’s an adult, she can look out for herself.”

Brienne shook her head, “I know, but —“

“They swindled you into coming along for Sansa’s ride, that’s what,” Jaime said, obviously amused. “Not that you weren’t getting what you wanted out of it, really.” 

Brienne resisted smacking him with the relatively ancient copy of Chaucer. “How dare you suggest that —“

“That you’re enjoying your time here? That your friend just wanted you to come and convinced her mother into tricking you here by using your bleeding heart that wants to save everyone?”

“You really do see the worst in people!” Brienne exclaimed hotly, putting the Chaucer back in its place before she really did use the book as a weapon.

“I see what is clear to see. And why are you acting as if this is terrible? Truly, it speaks well of you! You’re a good friend, obviously. You came because you thought your friend needed you — and your friend wanted you with her so badly that she got her mother to persuade you to come here.”

“I’ve been emailing —“ Brienne stopped.

Jaime’s grin only grew wider and his long eyelashes fluttered. “You’ve snuck in a phone then? I won’t tell on you. I think it’s a silly rule in this day and age, although don’t tell on me. But you’ve been emailing Miss Edward’s mother regularly? Well, you better let her know that your dear friend kissed a servant.”

Brienne gaped. “What?”

“That servant boy, Pod, the one that worked for my brother,” Jaime said, carelessly running his hand through his hair. His smirk suggested that he knew exactly how charming of a picture he looked. It made Brienne want to punch him, “Sansa kissed him.”

“How do you know that?” Brienne demanded, placing her hands on her hips. She almost felt like a scolding mother, but Jaime was no child. His eyes rove over her too much to be a child. It made Brienne itch.

Jaime smirk widened. “Pod told me. He was afraid that he’d lose his job and he needs it desperately. This place is good to its employees, full benefits, good pay, a roof over your head.”

“But why tell you?”

Jaime looked almost hurt before he folded his frown into a smile, so quickly that Brienne wasn't sure if the frown had been there at all. “Why not?” he asked, "I'm a good man to tell secrets to - I only tell them to you."

Brienne rolled her eyes. “But why hasn’t Sansa told me — and she kissed him? He didn’t kiss her?” Her current experience with stableboys in Austenland suggested that _they_ kissed the women.

“She did it. I saw it happen,” Jaime’s grin was terrible. “She wasn’t exactly discreet, your Miss Edwards.”

“That’s why Pod told you!”

“Perhaps,” Jaime said, not willing to admit it. “But perhaps you should be keeping a closer eye on your ward, governess.”

“I’m not her governess,” Brienne huffed, annoyed.

“Companion, then.”

Brienne couldn’t deal with him any longer. “We’re not going to rehearse today!”

“We’re not?” Jaime asked. "But you just said we were going to." He sounded disappointed but Brienne didn't care.

“No, I need to speak to Sansa.”

“She’s off with Mr. Hart, I believe. They were eating breakfast together, when I went looking for you, when I didn’t see you there, I came here to look for a book to read… but found you anyhow.”

“You were looking for me?”

His laugh was hard. “Don’t sound so touched, wench.” Brienne scowled and he only laughed again. “We need to rehearse. You don’t know your lines as well as you should after all.”

Brienne ducked her head, thinking on it. “Fine. We’ll rehearse.”

“Now then?” Jaime asked, offering his arm.

Brienne debated about not taking it, but, with a heavy sigh, took his arm. “Fine.”

“So sullen.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

Sansa was hard to corner alone — it seemed that whenever Brienne did find her, Sansa was with Mr. Hart, or Lady Olenna, and now it was with Walda and Margaery.

But Brienne hoped she could talk to Sansa privately. Walda and Margaery were the type that would understand the need for a private girl talk.

She hoped.

“Sansa?” Brienne asked, trying not to sound too pathetic. “Could we talk?”

“Is something wrong?” Sansa asked, looking worried.

“No, no!” Brienne was quick to dismiss that, although it didn’t seem to settle the other women’s smiles. “Nothing is wrong… with me.”

Sansa stared at Brienne as if trying to understand what she was saying. Margaery, on the other hand, caught something in Brienne’s words. “Let’s go Walda,” she said, taking the other woman’s hand with a beatific smile.  “There’s something in my room I’d like to show you.”

“I think you’ve shown me everything in your room,” Walda said, although she was giggling so hard that she was barely understandable.

Brienne frowned at their retreating backs, feeling as though she was missing something, but Sansa’s gaze pulled her back into reality. 

Or Austen-reality.

“You kissed a servant!” Brienne whispered without preamble, eager to get into the meat of things.

Sansa didn’t even feel as if she was listening to Brienne, her eyes were cloudy and she wasn't even looking at Brienne, instead she was staring down into her lap. “So did you,” Sansa reminded Brienne. Brienne almost felt as if she buried underneath snow, there was so much ice in Sansa’s words.

“I don’t mean it like that,” Brienne said, although she sort of did. After all, she ended it with Hyle out of fear for his job.

Well, that and she didn’t really like him, but still.

“It doesn’t matter. Podrick didn’t — he —“ Sansa stopped speaking and shook her head. “It just doesn’t matter.”

“Did you like him that much?”

Sansa sniffed. “That’s a silly question, and it’s almost time for dinner. We should get dressed.”

“I was just going to wear this,” Brienne said, “Can’t we talk about this instead?”

“No,” Sansa answered. “We can’t.”

 And with that, Sansa left Brienne standing in the hall, feeling more foolish than before.

_Oh, what was she going to tell Professor Stark?_

* * *

Dinner felt tense to Brienne, although she suspected it was all in her imagination, for everyone else was laughing and talking with ease as they supped on food that truly didn’t seem like it belonged in anyone’s stomach.

_Sheep’s eyeballs?_

Jaime wasn’t sitting by her tonight, instead he was situated between Walda and Margaery, and across from Sansa. Mr. Hart was on Brienne’s left, much to her chagrin, and Mr. Stag was on her right, much to her relief. Lady Olenna, per usual, was at the head of the table, staring them all down as if expecting someone to do something stupid.

Brienne ate slowly and talked little, terribly afraid that she was the one who would do something stupid. She was still upset after her _discussion_ with Sansa. Her friend was obviously hurting and not able to handle it, but Brienne couldn’t do anything but watch.

Sansa looked well enough, her cheeks red as she laughed at something Jaime said, a smile plastered on her face — but that was it, it all seemed so false and untrue. 

Brienne was worried, she had never seen Sansa this distraught before. But to those who didn’t know her well, or possibly even to those who did, it would seem as if nothing was wrong. Perhaps Sansa didn’t even realize something was wrong.

“Miss Knight!” Lady Olenna said. It took Brienne a moment to realize this was not the first time the lady of the house said her name.

Brienne blushed. “Yes?”

“You look very tired — are you all right?”

Brienne nodded. “Just thinking about the lines from the play,” she lied, a little annoyed about how easy the lie came to her. 

Jaime winked at her from his seat and she resisted scowling at him. How could he be so infuriating?

“Oh yes, you’re Andromache, correct?”

“Yes.”

“My wife,” Jaime said, a terrible grin on his face. He shot a melting look at Walda, “Of course, this is only a theatrical.” Walda turned as red as the wine she was drinking.

Lady Olenna rolled her eyes. “That’s enough, Mr. Lyons. Do you like your part, Brienne?” Lady Olenna asked. Brienne realized that the woman was trying to draw her into conversation and appreciated the effort.

“I do. Jaime is not a bad partner to work with,” Brienne replied, trying to be polite. She sipped her water afterwards...

Until she choked. “Oh no, I mean, Mr. Lyons!” she corrected, but it was too late, Margaery was already smirking at Brienne. The rest of the table looked just as amused, even if they were holding in their laughter better. Only Mr. Hart seemed genuinely unconcerned, examining his fork instead, as if he was looking for dirt or stains.

Lady Olenna shot a frown at Mr. Lyons, as if he was the one to say _her_  first name, but said nothing. Instead, her granddaughter spoke. “I cannot wait to see everyone’s… performances,” Margaery smiled. “It will be quite interesting, especially since none of us are trained actors.”

Brienne almost corrected Margaery but remembered that they were supposed to be in 1814. Despite the costumes, she had truly forgotten. Mr. Lyons… _Jaime_ had made her forget. She had always longed for the Regency, despite the issues, but…. but… 

She didn’t any longer.

She just wanted to go home.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re not familiar with the “Box Hill Scene” from Emma, it’s basically when the main character (Emma) thoughtlessly insults (for no reason) a poor "old maid" who is quite silly but also quite sweet and kind. You can probably easily find the scene from one of the many adaptions on youtube, you don’t have to understand much of what’s going on, it’s easy to tell that the situation is tense and upsetting. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! :)


	13. Day Twelve

** Chapter 13 **

_ Rewind: Sansa’s Best Kiss _

It had happened at a Halloween party. She was dressed up as a mummy (unfortunately this was a last minute costume, Arya, of course, ruined her beautiful Elizabethan dress with grape juice) and Jeyne was a fairy princess. They were seventeen years old. 

He was pretty, with magical violet eyes that he claimed were natural — not contacts. 

Sansa never saw him after that night but she also never forgot him. When he pressed his lips on hers, she felt as if he was claiming a whole kingdom. 

In a good way. 

Sansa didn’t even remember his name — only the way he smelled (like the ocean) and his blue hair (he was dressed up like some anime or video game character — Arya would have known who, but Sansa didn’t care). 

It was the best kiss she had ever had and sometimes she was still sad that she never saw him again. Then again, she also found out that he kissed like four other girls that night so perhaps it was for the best.

* * *

**_ Sansa - Austenland Day 12 _ **

The weather was dark and dreary when Sansa finally ventured out of her rooms. “I hope it’s not like this tomorrow evening,” she said to Margaery at breakfast. “I was hoping to perform the theatrical outdoors.” 

“That was Grandmother's hope as well,” Margaery informed her, smiling. “But we don’t always get what we want — or think we want.”

Sansa remembered Podrick’s lips on hers. “No, I suppose we don’t.”

Walda, who had been munching on a piece of blackened toast, shook her head. The curls on Walda’s head spun so sporadically Sansa almost felt nauseous. “I always get what I want,” she said. “Like I wanted the theatrical to be indoors! And now it probably will be.”  Sansa had never seen a more triumphant smile. 

Brienne cocked her head at Walda as she finished off her meal. “What else have you gotten?”

“This place! I wanted to go forever and look here I am.”

Margaery’s eyes twinkled. “And we’re very glad you are here.”

Walda grinned. “Of course you are. I’m great.” 

Sansa nodded, but felt almost adrift listening the chatter the other women spoke. She wondered why she felt like this, why she sipped her tea like an animatronic character at Disney World - mechanical and stiff. Brienne looked to her a few times, obviously worried by the way Sansa wasn’t smiling, so Sansa grinned at the appropriate parts - when Walda made an off-color joke, when Margaery complimented Walda, when Brienne blushed at the mention of Mr. Lyons. 

Yet until she practiced with Mr. Hart that afternoon, Sansa felt like a paper boat, floating on the seas in a rainstorm. This was possibly because of the weather at Austenland. The rain had not ceased yet and Sansa did not look forward to walking around in the mud outside. And since it was raining, still, they were lacking a place to practice. 

Mr. Lyons and Brienne had taken over the library. When Sansa passed by she could hear whispers and laughter. She wondered what was going on there… but didn’t worry too much about it. Brienne always told Sansa what went on in her life. 

Well, when Sansa pushed Brienne to, at least. 

Margaery was off with Walda and Mr. Stag for some reason — considering that Margaery didn’t have any parts in the production with them, Sansa was unsure of the true reason. Perhaps they weren’t practicing at all but gossiping. But no matter their true purpose, they had overtaken the parlor.

That left only the ballroom, an opulent space Sansa had not dared to step into yet, eager to keep it a surprise for her last night. 

Mr. Hart seemed almost pleased about this, that she had never stepped into the room before. Sansa noticed this as he walked with her. Her bare hand was placed on his elbow, so very properly. So very Regency Appropriate.

Sansa found this to be a comfort rather than a bother as she would have a day or two before. The more restrictions the better — she even buried her phone away, unable to think about texting Jeyne or Arya. What could she say to them?

Mr. Hart’s gloved hand found her bare one. “Miss Sansa?” he asked.

“Yes?” 

His smile was beautiful. “How do you like the room? Do you think we’ll be able to rehearse adequately in here?”

Sansa looked around, trying not to show how impressed she was. Miss Sansa Edwards would have seen much more beautiful ballrooms, all around the continent. Miss Sansa Edwards would have seen Italian and French decor — not just the English mockery of it. 

Sansa smiled lightly when she made her decision. “It’s adequate.”

“Only adequate?” He sounded amused. “I sense you have seen much better ballrooms than this.”

Sansa Stark had not. The painted murals featuring cherubs and elephants, the large windows that took up half the wall, the intricate work on the ceiling made up of shiny marble, the polished and dark wooden floor panels made up of pine trees — it was lovely.

“Most houses don’t have a ballroom necessarily,” Mr. Hart told her. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

Even Sansa Stark knew that. “I did… Lady Olenna is quite fortunate.”

“Indeed.”

Sansa suddenly realized her hand was still in his — and now he was entwining them. She pulled away. “So, should we practice?”

He eyed her. “I think we know our lines fairly well.”

“I’m not so certain about that. I messed up badly yesterday,” Sansa reminded Mr. Hart. “I mixed up your line with mine!”

“That’s normal, I’m sure.” 

He’s an actor, Sansa remembered. Of course he knows if that’s normal. “Oh, well, what else should we do?”

She almost blushed. It felt like a naive comment she would have made at sixteen not twenty-three.

Mr. Hart was enough of a false gentleman to ignore what she said. “While I know you have time to practice dancing next week, I was thinking I could teach you how to dance now.”

“But there’s only two of us.” Sansa crossed her arms, uneasily aware of how doing this made her cleavage pop up. Mr. Hart eyed them for a moment but then looked back into her eyes. 

She almost wished he was still looking at her boobs. At least then she wouldn't feel so naked.

“Yes, most dances require multiple people,” he agreed, although he sounded almost disgruntled about it. “But there’s always the waltz.”

“That’s not exactly appropriate,” Sansa said. Regency dances were like line dances or square dances, not one-on-one. 

Although, imagining Lizzy and Darcy doing the waltz made Sansa almost sigh with romantic longing. Oh, them looking into each other’s eyes — would Lizzy have been able to see the good in Darcy? Would Darcy stumble at looking so close into the eyes of the woman he so dearly loved? It was almost too much.

“No, it’s quite scandalous. But you’re a modern woman, Miss Edwards,” Mr. Hart said, his eyes caressing her figure enough to make her skin rise up with pinpricks.

Boys. 

“There’s no music," Sansa said. She couldn't wait to see the ballroom when it was full of music and people. How beautiful it would look then.

“You could always sing, you have a beautiful voice,” he suggested, suddenly reaching for her waist. To Sansa’s immense surprise, she didn’t back away, but, instead, allowed him to hold her. 

“That’s quite a thought,” she said, feeling almost breathless. She didn’t like Mr. Hart. But… this was very, very nice.

Mr. Hart grinned and suddenly his whole stupidly handsome face lit up. He was almost as hot as Mr. Lyons when he looked like that. 

He twirled her around and she laughed, genuinely enjoying herself, much more than she had before. “I don’t know if we should be doing this,” she said as he guided her under his arm in a delightful spin.

“Have a little fun, Miss Sansa,” Mr. Hart teased.

Sansa laughed again, “If you say so, Mr. Hart.”

“We’re already being inappropriate by putting on a theatrical,” he said, looking into her eyes. “Jane Austen certainly wouldn’t approve.”

“No, that’s not what she disliked!” Sansa corrected. “It was the idea of using a theatrical as a pretense to flirt with engaged people — that’s what was happening in Mansfield Park… Brienne, I mean Miss Knight, told me about all that. Jane Austen did little plays with her family in childhood so it’s not theatricals as a whole at all!”

Mr. Hart seemed like he was resisting a huge eye-roll. “If Miss Knight says so, it must be true.”

“She is very smart!”

“I’m sure she has plenty to recommend her.”

“She does! She’s one of my best friends!”

“One of?”

“Oh yes,” Sansa smiled, thinking of Jeyne and Arya. “You can’t have too many best friends.”

“Or rather… bosom sisters,” he laughed.

Sansa rolled her own eyes. “Yes, I suppose that’s the terminology.”

“Well, Miss Sansa,” he said, letting her go and bowing, “I trust your opinion of any man or woman. Your intuition about people is spot-on, I’m sure.”

“Not always,” Sansa said without meaning to, “I mean, well, people are more complicated than we think, aren’t they?”

“Perhaps, although I doubt it,” Mr. Hart said, brushing himself off. “Now off to a better subject… your dancing skills.”

_Oh dear._ “Were they that bad?” Sansa bit her lip.

He grinned, “No, not at all. My foot doesn’t hurt at all.”

“Don’t be cruel," Sansa said, feeling embarrassed.

Mr. Hart laughed. “I’m not. I’m being perfectly serious, Miss Sansa. I think you have remarkable talent for the waltz. Was this your first time dancing it?” 

“It was.”

“Considering we had no music, you did remarkably well staying on beat — you’ll have no trouble with the other dances, although I’m sure one as well-traveled as you knows the other dances by heart.”

“Mr. Hart, are you paying me a genuine compliment? I thought you gave those out rarely?”

“I do,” he confirmed with another grin. “But I believe you deserve all the compliments in the world… Sansa.”

Sansa didn’t want to correct him, but did so. “Miss Sansa at the very least, Mr. Hart,” she reprimanded. 

His eyes bored into hers, making her heart beat a little faster. “I will respect your wishes, Miss Sansa.”

She almost sighed. “Oh, Mr. Hart, let’s rehearse now that we’ve had our fun.”

“As always, Miss Sansa… I take my cues from you.”

* * *

The costume fitting was ridiculous, in Sansa’s opinion. They were definitely cheap costumes that had been worn by other guests. How on earth Brienne was handling her own costume, Sansa didn’t know. The seamstress was someone Sansa hadn’t yet met, some woman named Pia. She was mildly pretty in the same way Robb’s fiance Jeyne Westerling was — pretty enough to catch your eye but not enough to keep it.  

Sansa felt ungracious thinking such things but sometimes she couldn’t help herself. Still she tried to smile brightly at the other young woman as she was prodded and accidentally poked with the needle. 

“I’m sorry!” Pia said in a high-pitched voice that vaguely reminded Sansa of some sort of pop star, although she wasn’t sure who exactly. 

“It’s all right,” Sansa consoled. “It happens.”

Pia looked almost tearful. “I’m almost done, I promise!”

“It’s fine,” Sansa said, not for the first time. But Pia had said that several times over the last half hour — that she was almost done with Sansa’s costume. 

But this time it seemed as if she was telling the truth for Pia finished the last bit in five minutes. “There,” Pia said with satisfaction. It was the same tone Theon used after finishing a really good sandwich. “Oh my, look at you. You’re stunning.”

Sansa turned and faced the mirror. Her heart jumped into her throat.  Was it possible that this was a real reflection and not fake?

She looked like a princess and goddess and celebrity rolled into one beautiful, Grecian dress. Oh, she could almost see herself wandering a Greek ruin. 

“Oh and with your hair,” Pia murmured, almost as if she couldn’t believe her own handiwork. “You’ll look like Venus — from the painting you know? A not naked Venus.”

“Venus de Milo,” Sansa murmured, clutching at the skirt. It was pure white silk that flowed effortlessly around her. “I thought these costumes were old.”

“They are but you look so lovely in it, don’t you!” Pia beamed. “I wish I could have a camera here.”

Sansa nodded. She suddenly missed her smartphone. 

“This pin might need to be replaced,” Pia said with a careful eye. “It might break off and then the whole thing will be ruined. You’ll truly be Venus de whatever then.”

“Could you make it blue?” Sansa asked, “to match my eyes?”

“Of course! I have something here actually,” Pia said, handing Sansa a clip embedded with small sapphires that winked in the fake candlelight. 

“Are these real?”

“No, of course not!” Pia said, “But they look real don’t they?”

Sansa wouldn’t know.“Sure.”

“Hold still,” Pia said, quickly switching out the clasps. “Now this is a Greek chiton.”

“I really feel like Cassandra in this,” Sansa said, swirling around once Pia was done.

“I’m sure you do. Although it wouldn’t be made of silk really, just clean linen. Still…” Pia’s voice was almost sad. “It’s so beautiful like this, isn’t it?”

Sansa wondered how often this girl, who had to be around her age, made and fixed up beautiful dresses she never got to wear, but didn’t feel comfortable asking. “It really is. Thank you, Pia.”

“Now let me put this away,” Pia said, all business. “And I’ll make sure it’s ready for you tomorrow. Could you find and send Miss Tyrell in next?”

“I think she’s with Miss Walda,” Sansa said out loud, “so I’ll see if I can find them.”

“She’ll be easy,” Pia told Sansa in hushed tones. “Miss Margery’s measurements rarely change.”

* * *

Margaery was nowhere to be found — and neither was Walda. That was until Sansa knocked on Margaery’s door where she could hear the two giggling together like they were children at a schoolyard or on a playdate. Their laughs were loud enough that the wooden door didn’t stop them.

Sansa knocked hard so she wouldn’t interrupt whatever gossip session they had going. “Margaery?” she called out. “Pia’s ready for you to be measured.” 

Margaery threw open the door with an almost flushed expression. “Is she? Well, I’ll head there right now.” 

Sansa couldn’t see behind Margaery’s figure, but suspected that Walda was there somewhere. “Well, ok then.”

“All right,” Margaery agreed. 

Sansa eyed Margaery. The whole situation reminded Sansa of something, but she wasn’t sure exactly what. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Yes, you will.”

Sansa nodded and walked off. Sansa could hear Margaery slam the door as Sansa left — as well as the explosion of giggling once she did. 

_It must be nice to have a friend to talk to._ Brienne still seemed like she wanted to harangue Sansa about the Podrick situation so Sansa wasn’t sure if she could bear dealing with that at the moment. It was just too much. Mr. Hart was a much better distraction, though Sansa still wasn’t sure if she liked him very much. He was much nicer than before and he even _looked_ nicer but that wasn’t the same as actually being kind and good. 

And Sansa did like those qualities most of all. 

_If only…_

Well… _it didn’t matter._ Mr. Hart was her Regency Appropriate suitor and she’d enjoy it. As much as she could while being Regency Appropriate. 

At least she could handle that.

Since she couldn't handle Brienne.

Sansa had almost forgotten that Brienne had said Mr. Lyons’ first name at dinner the night before. It was just so unlike Brienne! 

Perhaps Sansa should talk to her — if only to get her friend to spill the beans on that whole situation. First a servant guy kissed Brienne now she’s on a first name basis with the hottest actor? How does that happen?

Sansa wanted to know but not enough to talk about her own life, so instead of looking for Brienne, the way she knew she should, she went back to her own room. 

The curtains were strangely shut, Sansa typically left them open, so she pulled them back, using all of her strength to do so — they were quite heavy — just in time to see Podrick working on the gardens below. The rain had finally ended although the sky was still grey. It looked like Podrick was trying to clear out the mud from the pathway. Sansa felt sorry for him... that couldn't be any easy task.

Sansa closed her eyes and shut the curtains. 

She couldn’t escape him. Why did she do this with more than a week of Austenland left?

Was she stupid?

_Stupid Sansa._

Loving boys who could never ever love her. Kissing boys she shouldn't kiss.

Why did she do such stupid things? Why did she want love so badly? Why couldn't she be like Arya or Brienne - never dating anyone, happier alone. Why was she like this?

And why did she want to cry about it like the silly, stupid girl she was?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a while! but I hope you enjoyed it - I know this is a lot of 'set-up' right now but trust me, it'll get pretty funny next chapter - it's the theatrical after all ;)


	14. Day Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The theatrical.

** Chapter 14 **

_ Rewind: Thanksgiving Day AJA_

Thanksgiving was upon Brienne and this year, she just couldn’t afford to fly down to her father’s place. It would take up every second of her weekend and she’d get nothing done. She had so much work to do, it was her senior year after all, and she was trying to apply to graduate schools and finish up essays and deal with being a TA for Professor Stark — she had no reason to fly home.

Other than sheer loneliness. 

But it was only Brienne’s loneliness that concerned her — her father didn’t need her right now as much as he protested otherwise. He had a new girlfriend, and this girlfriend had children of her own, small cute little boys that would entertain her father much more than she could. 

So Brienne relegated herself to a day of watching television in her tiny college apartment that she typically shared with another girl until Professor Stark summoned her to the office the week before.

“Well, this may be _unprofessional_ ,” Catelyn Stark said, peering at Brienne through her glasses. “But how you would you like to spend Thanksgiving Day with my family? I know you’re staying in town so I though you might like to join us. My children are around your age, my eldest daughter is about three years younger than you and my eldest son, Robb, is graduating early from his college next month.”

Was this a setup? Brienne felt uneasy, but, for some reason… perhaps loneliness… agreed to be apart of the Stark’s Thanksgiving plans.

And it was a crazy, insane mess. Brienne couldn’t tell you what was happening there were so many dogs and people and children running around and she was so overwhelmed that she didn’t notice until she got home (plied with mashed potatoes, green beans, and turkey) that not one person stared at her face or her height with anything but the cursory interest.

She also suddenly had a lot of phone numbers in her cell phone, her contact list seemed to have doubled in one day.

But despite this sudden popularity amongst the Stark clan & friends, Brienne was so surprised when Sansa Stark called her over that weekend and invited her to go Christmas shopping that Brienne automatically said _yes_.

* * *

**_ Brienne - Austenland Day 13 _ **

 

The rain was drowning Highgarden when Brienne woke up. The window looked like it belonged in a submarine rather than a house and all she could see was blue and grey, the colors muddling together so much it was as if the window was a surrealist painting.

There was no way that the theatrical could be presented outdoors now.

Brienne was almost disappointed by this turn of events. The theatrical wouldn’t be as good inside, she imagined, not that it’d be any good at all.

But if it wasn’t, she would make sure that it wasn’t her fault. 

For some reason this theatrical mattered to Brienne more than she originally thought it would when it was proposed. She felt like it was something she could handle — more than the false flirtations of “Mr. Stag” or… Jaime’s. 

She couldn’t act but she could at least _try_ to act. 

Miss Mordane popped into the room only fifteen minutes after Brienne awoke somehow sensing that her ‘mistress’ was ready to get ready. Tutting over Brienne, she placed her in a long-sleeved grey day dress. 

“It’s not the prettiest thing, but the rain has brought a chill into the house,” Miss Mordane told her, clucking at Brienne’s hair as she pulled it into a strange sort of braid. “And you’ll be changing for the theatrical this evening in any case.”

“When will that happen? Or will it even happen at all?”

“There’s backups for everything, dear. Lady Olenna has a plan. She always does.”

And did she ever. Prepped by Miss Mordane’s words, Brienne wasn’t surprised when Lady Olenna announced over breakfast how they were to handle this rain.

“We shall hold it indoors. It shall be a smaller audience but just as well. I have a stage already prepped and the furniture in the sitting room is being moved to my study for now. Don’t worry, Miss Knight,” Lady Olenna said, apparently noticing Brienne’s disgruntled expression at the idea of antique furniture being moved around, “the furniture will be well taken care of. It has been in my family for generations.”

Brienne nodded in acknowledgement, aware that her face was now burning in embarrassment. Margaery patted her arm. “Ignore Grandmother, she’s just sour that the weather is spoiling her plans,”  she whispered. “After all, nothing should rule over Grandmother, not even Mother Nature.”

But Mother Nature was winning the battle. Thunder and lightning ruled the day — it reminded Brienne of a hurricane, but surely there weren’t hurricanes in central England? The electric lights flickered and Jaime seemed to find it amusing to make Brienne jump as they practiced their lines one last time. 

Not that she actually jumped. She just stomped on his foot instead.

“Damn, that hurt,” he cursed.

“Stop trying to scare me,” Brienne ordered, ignoring the way the flickering light made Jaime’s face half light and half shadow. Which one was the mask? “And get to your script.”

“No one else is working. The rest are relaxing, well as well as they can in such… circumstances.” A crash of thunder punctuated his thought.

Jaime smirked. 

“Fine,” Brienne said, throwing her script onto the couch. “What do you want to do then?”

He came closer to her, half-limping (in exaggeration, Brienne was sure), “Why don’t we go outside?”

“Are you mad?”

He ignored her query. “Are you afraid of a little rain?”

“No but I am afraid of getting sick! And ruining this dress!”

“It's an ugly dress.” 

_For an ugly girl_ , “But it’s my dress.”

“And you’ll be changing into a costume soon enough.” 

“My hair…”

“I never thought you’d be the type to fuss about your hair.”

She glared at him, but he just kept smirking. It was mostly annoying because he was right, she wasn’t the type to worry about her hair. But Miss Mordane had done a lovely job on it… even if it was an odd looking circle braid.

“Don’t you want to experience an English storm?” he purred, his accent light and lilting. 

“No.”

He barked a laugh. “You’re such a liar. I saw the look in your eyes, you want to run around in the rain with me.”

Brienne sniffed. “No I do not.”

“Sure.”

“Can we get back to some semblance of Regency Appropriate behavior please?”

“You only say stuff like that when you get nervous,” Jaime observed, his grin unceasing. And beautiful.

Brienne looked away. She could hear his laugh. 

“I’m going to go to my room now,” she told him, picking up her script. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“I can’t wait to see you as the Amazonian warrior you are.”

Brienne huffed. “I’m not an Amazon.”

“Maybe not in the play. Sorry — the theatrical.”

"Do you ever not talk?"

"Do you ever talk?"

Brienne rolled her eyes and left, unable to bear the man any longer. Her nerves were frayed as it was - she couldn't deal with a jackass on top of it. 

* * *

“You look beautiful, all of you,” Lady Olenna said, as she examined Brienne and the other women in the room hidden behind the curtain. Somehow Lady Olenna established a large stage and a large backstage without batting an eye. 

“Thank you, Grandmother,” Margaery said. She truly did look beautiful, her hair in Grecian curls, her eyelids covered with sparkling gold. 

The Tyrell girl was playing the smallest part out of the four of them, yet she did not look it at all. 

Brienne felt dowdy standing next to her. Dowdy, gigantic, and awkward. Her own hair was slicked back with a fake crown on top of it — Andromache was married to a Prince after all — and the chiton she was forced into only emphasized her small breasts and wide frame. It was hard to look at the other girls since they all looked so _beautiful._

Lady Olenna waved to a servant who allowed the men in, and they were as good looking as ever. Which was a disappointment, Brienne couldn’t bear to be the only ugly one, the only one who looked terrible in these clothes. 

She ignored Jaime’s glances and read over the script one more time, as Lady Olenna spoke about something or other. 

And then the show began. The stage was made up of some sort of plywood that barely held Walda's (or anyone else's) weight, the chairs the audience were sitting were obviously plastic designed to look like wood, and the curtains used to block out the backstage were stolen from another room - the green clashed with everything. Lady Olenna truly wasn't expecting defeat by weather on this day. 

It was difficult just waiting for their scene. She and Jaime had one small scene in the beginning, but their most triumphant scenes were near the end. Two of them were then, both lovely in Brienne’s opinion. Or as lovely as this schmaltzy theatrical could be. 

Margaery’s lines had already been said and done, her scenes with Mr. Hart quiet and somber and almost sad. Penelope missed Odysseus very much in this production and it seemed, to Brienne, that Apollo was just taunting the poor woman about her husband’s fate. 

But she kept quiet about her opinions, knowing that she’d only be laughed at for saying such a thing. 

Or at least she thought until Jaime said what she was thinking, his lips pursed as he watched the stage. He seemed to be taking everyone else’s acting more seriously than his own, for when they were on the stage in the beginning he had forgotten his lines several times, too busy staring and smirking at Brienne until she would kick him lightly, causing at least one audience member to laugh.

It was Mr. Hart and Sansa’s turn in the limelight now, they spoke their lines to each other, so quietly that it was impossible to hear. Jaime and Brienne were behind them, in the background, just as they were supposed to be according to the stage directions. The two of them were supposed to look like silent stone, immovable and beautiful, but  Brienne couldn’t stop watching the other two performers, there was so much chemistry and tension in the air that it was as if  she was being forced by some unknowable deity to watch Sansa and Mr. Hart stare at each other, both of their chests heaving and their eyes sparking.  

It almost wasn't a surprise when Mr. Hart grabbed Sansa and kissed her and the tension evaporated. Brienne was _more than fairly sure_ that was not in the script and wasn’t surprised to see Jaime’s head swivel to gaze at Podrick, who was sitting in the audience, in one of those stupid plastic chairs. She couldn’t see the boy’s expression clearly, Jaime was blocking her view, but for some reason, she knew it was a hurt one. Perhaps it was because the way Jaime was frowning. 

Sansa was flushed pink when the kiss finally ended, despite it being a rather chaste kiss with only the lips pressing. The two of them left the stage, allowing the focus back onto Jaime and Brienne.

_At least it wasn’t a French kiss._

“Fuck that was hot.”

Brienne sighed and Jaime looked back to her with a grin. Walda’s voice carried from behind the ‘curtains’ to the audience. Brienne didn’t even dare to look at Olenna, who was probably angered by all of this insanity, and instead, tried to recite her next lines and then waited for Jaime to say his. 

But he didn’t say a thing, his supple mouth unmoving as his green eyes stared at her neck. Brienne felt a blush coming on and knew that soon her neck would be as red as Sansa’s hair if he didn’t stop it.

So she poked him, hard, in the shoulder. Jaime blinked then, as if waking up from a dream, and smiled the kind of smile that made Brienne’s toes and insides curl up like a cat laying down for a nap in the sun. He was the sun, golden haired and golden skinned and beautiful and hard to stare at for long. So she stopped looking, blushing as he spoke his lines, suddenly _very_ aware of him. His long fingers, his stump, his arms, the way his toga showed way too much of his chest which had only the barest traces of golden hair. 

Brienne wanted to kiss them all. Every strand.

_He’s not even my suitor! He’s an actor!_

Brienne looked around for Mr. Stag then, helplessly trying to focus her attention on her former crush and probable suitor, but he was at an awkward angle, swinging around his wooden sword aimlessly behind the curtain. 

Jaime’s ( _Hector’s, she reminded herself)_ words grew in her ears now, “Now, Andromache, shall I die for Troy or for you?”

Don’t die at all, she wanted to snap at him, looking back at his chest, unable to stare into his eyes,  _live._

But those weren’t her lines. “Die for the both of us, if you must die at all,” she said, wincing at her monotonous words. She didn’t sound like a woman in love with her husband at all. Brienne could imagine Loras Tyrell rolling his eyes in the crowd somewhere and she looked back up at Jaime's face in order to receive some sort of assurance.

Jaime’s green eyes crinkled as he recited his next lines, and his whole face was wrinkled in his effort not to laugh. He looked more human than godlike, beautiful and striking and _real._

Paris, or rather, Mr. Stag, popped in front of them then from behind the curtain, and Brienne and Jaime scooted back, so the attention wouldn’t be on them any longer, almost getting run over by Walda in the process, who had leapt out from behind the curtains with the grace of a mermaid trying to swim in sand. Brienne wished she and Jaime could hop behind the curtain, like Sansa and Mr. Hart were doing now, but they had another scene to get through.

So Brienne watched for the spot they were supposed to jump in on, wondering how Margaery wasn’t bored to tears behind the ‘stage’. She only had two scenes and they both happened much earlier in the production. 

A sharp pain on her side distracted Brienne. “Ow,” she glared at Jaime, who didn’t even bother to feign innocence. “What was that for?”

His smile was sharper than his pinch. “I’m warning you that I’m going to put my head in your lap for the death scene.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because I’m tired and your lap looks comfortable,” Jaime said. She stared at him until he shook his head, “Wench, to make the scene look better. Don’t be stupid.”

She tried not to show that his comment bothered her. “Fine.”

He looked at her oddly, but said nothing more. 

It was only the burst of song from Walda that made him speak again. “YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE I’M THE ONLY GIRL IN THE WORRRRRLD,” Walda sang.

Brienne wished she could see the audience’s faces but settled for Jaime’s whose snort of laughter made her own laugh start up, much to her surprise. His prosthetic hand touched her shoulder and she only laughed more, until Margaery poked her head out from behind the curtains, her eyes wide and amused. 

“Grandmother won’t like this,” she muttered with a growing smile.

“You dared her to do that, didn’t you?” Jaime asked Margaery, removing his prosthetic hand from Brienne’s shoulder. 

Margaery shrugged her own shoulders, which were bare and tan. “I may have. Just to spice things up. It was getting rather dull, even with that kiss.”

“THAT IS ENOUGH,” a voice from the audience bellowed, interrupting Walda’s song. Brienne, for a wild moment, thought it was Lady Olenna, but then Loras Tyrell, wild-eyed and… strangely sweaty, burst out from his seat onto their makeshift stage. “I cannot bear to see my story turned into this,” he cried out.

“Loras,” Renly whined, obviously trying to calm his beau, while Walda backed away, almost tripping over her chiton, “It’s all right. We’re just having fun.”

“The theater isn’t for fun!” 

“I think we should leave before his wrath turns to us,” Margaery quipped, looking much too amused at her brother’s wrath. _Was that what it was like to have a sibling,_ Brienne wondered, as Jaime forced her to get up and behind the curtain, his hands on her shoulder, steering her around. Together they all dashed away into the other room, laughing or trying not to laugh at the sporadic yelling they heard from Loras. 

Sansa and Mr. Hart sprung apart when they entered, and Brienne couldn’t tell if they were fighting or kissing. Sansa looked angry but… 

Brienne felt as if she didn’t know Sansa’s mind anymore. Had their friendship fractured rather than strengthened during this trip to Austenland?

Jaime’s hand was still gripping her shoulder, “So,” he said dryly, “did we interrupt something, Mr. Hart? Miss Edwards?”

Sansa turned pale but Mr. Hart’s eyes flashed. “No, but what are you all doing back here?”

Margaery quickly took over. “Oh, you didn’t hear the ruckus my brother is making?” she asked with one of her quick smiles. Margaery was truly a Mary Crawford at times, Brienne thought. “My grandmother will probably kill him later,” Margaery said cheerfully. “Or Father will.”

“Is the theatrical finished then?” Sansa asked, as she adjusted her chiton. 

“I’d say so,” Jaime said, releasing Brienne from his grip then. “Off to bed, I suppose.”

The way he said _bed_ made Brienne’s heart jump and she made herself walk away from him and towards Sansa. “Let’s go,” Brienne told her, not even sure why she was saying it. But Sansa agreed, looking more relieved than annoyed. Brienne only realized when they were halfway back to Sansa’s room that it would have been polite to invite Margaery to walk back with them.

_She was probably busy smoothing things over with her family anyhow._

“I can’t believe he did that,” Sansa seethed. “How dare he do that. What right did he have to kiss me? Nothing like that has happened since Sandor Clegane in college! Do you remember him>!”

Brienne blinked. Sansa was speaking so rapidly it was hard to understand her. “Vaguely.”

“Well, he kissed me in my dorm once after freaking the hell out about something or other,” Sansa looked uncomfortable. “Or at least I think he did. He ran out right after.”

“Oh.” 

Sansa kept rambling, half running down the hall to her room. “But whatever at least he was good at it. Um,  _I think._ Mr. Hart just shoved his tongue down my throat!”

“Um, it looked better than that?” _Wasn't it just the press of the lips?_

Sansa threw open the door. “He just kissed me! He didn’t tell me he was going to do it! He did it in front of everyone! In front of…” 

To Brienne’s astonishment, Sansa burst into tears before finishing her thought, falling onto her large, cushy bed as she did so, burying her face into a quilt. It barely muffled the sobs that were pouring out of Sansa’s small frame. 

Brienne didn’t know what to do. She felt useless, just standing there, still in her costume, watching her friend cry. 

“Sansa,” she said, edging over to the bed, trying not to hurry over there. “Sansa?”

Sansa didn’t respond, snorting with tears instead. She almost reminded Brienne of Marianne from _Sense and Sensibility._ So many emotions bound up in one person couldn't be healthy or good.

Brienne reached Sansa and patted her back, awkwardness spreading through her. “It’s okay, Sansa, I’m sure Podrick will think it’s a part of the theatrical.”

This seemed to elicit something out of Sansa for the younger girl lifted her head and stared blearily at Brienne, tears still caught on her lashes. “How — wait, how did you know about Podrick... and me? The other day?”

Brienne disliked lying yet she couldn’t bear to out Jaime. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that Jaime saw the kiss and harassed Podrick about it and then told her. Well, maybe it was _Jaime’s_ fault but he meant no harm. It was like Mr. Darcy meddling with his friend’s affairs, trying to make sure they’re happy. Not exactly a good thing, but sometimes good things could come out of it… like saving Lydia Bennet from herself. 

Or in this case, saving Sansa. 

“I could tell you liked him,” Brienne half-lied. “And I saw his face in the audience…”

Sansa’s face crumpled. “But he- he didn’t even kiss me back when I kissed him.”

Brienne hesitated, but placed her hand on Sansa’s head. “Turn around, I’ll unbraid it for you,” Brienne said, remembering how Cat would do that for Sansa sometimes.

Sansa obliged and Brienne tried to think of something to say as she untied the intricate braids that were woven into her friend’s beautiful red hair. “Sometimes you can’t be with the person you like, but you still like them.”

“I know,” Sansa said, soft and quiet. “At least I thought I did.”

Brienne spoke again, a little worried about how Sansa would react to the question. “Did you actually like the kiss between you and Mr. Hart.” 

There was silence and then…a soft _yes._  

Brienne sighed. More complications.“That’s all right. Aren’t you the one who is always telling me to ‘get some’.”

“Yes,” Sansa said, sounding miserable. Brienne wished she could see Sansa’s expression, but kept trying to untie the braids.

“Then just think of it as that. You’re single, you’re in Austenland… enjoy it. I’m sure Lady Olenna will reprimand him soon and that it won’t happen again.”

“I wish he wasn’t my suitor,” Sansa said. “He’s too charming for his own good and I dislike it.”

“She put two charming people together,” Brienne sighed. “It makes sense from Lady Olenna’s end.”

“Who is your suitor? Have we even figured that out yet?”

“I think it’s Mr. Stag even though he obviously hasn’t had much of a chance to flirt with me this week since Mr. Lyons —“

“Mr. Lyons now is it?” Brienne could hear the laugh in Sansa’s voice. “I thought he was _Jaime.”_

“He made me do that.”

“I’m sure,” Sansa laughed. It was a strange laugh, sounding almost like a sore throat but after so many tears Brienne was glad Sansa was laughing at all. Even at Brienne’s expense. “He looks at you differently than anyone else, but you’re right. I don’t think he’s your suitor. I think he’s supposed to be Walda’s.”

“What do you mean he looks at me differently?” Brienne asked, hoping that her voice didn’t catch. “I don’t think he does.”

“Oh, Brienne,” Sansa sounded sad. “You would never believe me.”

That was probably correct.

_No will ever look at me the way Mr. Darcy looks at Elizabeth Bennet._

“I miss Jane.”

“Jane Austen?” Brienne was confused.

A laugh escaped Sansa. “No, _Jeyne_ Poole. I miss Arya too. And my mom. I didn’t think I’d feel so many feelings during this trip. I didn’t… expect this.”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t. Stop unbraiding so I can talk to you face to face.” Brienne did so. Sansa looked so fiercely determined — like her mother... like her sister. “I’m so glad you came with me. I’d be so lost without you here. I’m sorry we haven’t talked as much as we did before, I think we both just got so involved with stupid stuff, especially me, that we… we…” 

Sansa started to cry again. “I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “I’m just so sorry that I suck.”

“You don’t suck,” Brienne consoled. 

But Sansa shook her head commandingly, “I do! I really do. And I’m going to stop sucking. At least for this last week. I want this last week to be perfect. I don’t want to worry about boys, I just want to flirt without consequence and dance!”

“Flirt with Mr. Stag then,” Brienne recommended. “He’s very capable of both those things.”

Sansa raised a perfect eyebrow. “I feel as though there’s a story there.”

Brienne smiled. “There may be one.”

“And so you’ll have to sleep here tonight, to tell me it. And any other story we haven’t been able to talk about yet — we’ve only had one sleepover since we’ve been here and that is a travesty!”

Brienne laughed. “All right.”

Sansa’s smile was brilliant and bright. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

_Me too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking forever! This chapter was seriously hard to write. And then grad school got busier earlier than expected! I hope you liked it though! I'll try to get the next one out sooner!


	15. Day Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa remembers that there's a world outside of Austenland.

** Chapter Fifteen **

_ Rewind: Sansa and the Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day _

The fifth grade book fair was the worst, most humiliating day of her life.

On a day like this, one might expect clashes of thunder and lightening slashing the sky until it bled rain, but it was quite a nice snowy day. The kind of day that Sansa typically enjoyed even when Arya and Bran chased after her with snowballs.

Instead, she warm and toasty inside the school library, her leggings attached to her like a second skin. So when the blood began, Sansa froze with a Harry Potter book in her hands. Jeyne didn’t notice her expression — it was only when Sansa began to beg to go to the bathroom that Jeyne saw the spot on the back of Sansa’s legs. 

And then so did everyone else.

They all laughed mercilessly while a teacher tried to rush her to a nurse’s office where Sansa just ended up crying, a Harry Potter book still in her lap, completely unpaid for. 

She started her first day of womanhood as a thief and a crybaby and no one let her forget it.

* * *

 

**_ Sansa - Austenland Day 14 _ **

When Sansa awoke, Brienne was gone. 

Sansa didn’t mind this. Brienne had apparently run into several people last time they had a sleepover, still wearing her PJs, so she couldn’t blame her friend for sneaking out early. 

It was funny that they always seemed to have sleepovers after a man kissed them. 

_Stupid Mr. Hart._ _Mr. Harry Hart._

How dare he do that in front of everyone? If he wanted to kiss her he should at least have done it in private, not hide behind the excuse of acting. 

Or… wait… he was already acting… he was always acting. 

_He was an actor._

But… that kiss felt so real: a fantastical reality. A fantasy that intermingled with reality so well that you forgot it was fantasy at all. Like Harry Potter! Kissing Harry was like well, kissing Harry Potter — a completely different Harry.

And while this particular Harry wasn’t dark haired, nor did he wear glasses, but that didn’t matter, she was redheaded like Ginny.

Oh no, she was mixing up her literature now.

She was in Austenland. Not Hogwarts. Austenland.

But if she was truly in Austenland, Harry wouldn’t have kissed her. That wasn’t Regency Appropriate after all!

Not unless they were married, or at least engaged! 

Not that Sansa wanted to be engaged or married to the awful man who kissed women in the middle of theatricals!

In a huff, Sansa made her way to the window, where the sun shone brightly, eager to focus her attentions on something other than her own self-inflicted dramas, as her mother would call them. Not that she’d be wrong, Sansa reflected, as she watched the man who kissed Brienne a week or so ago trim the branches off a tree in the garden. He wasn’t bad looking, but he wasn’t good-looking like Harry. 

Nor was he kind like Podrick from what Brienne told Sansa.

Sansa closed the drapes suddenly, thinking hard. 

One week left. 

One week of avoiding Harry? Or would he be fired after that stunt? Brienne almost seemed to think he could be but she wasn’t sure.And Brienne may have been practicing wishful thinking in any case since she didn’t like Harry very much to being with — he was never very kind to her, she pointed out to Sansa last night. 

Sansa almost pitied Brienne last night, it seemed like the older girl wasn’t sure if she should steer Sansa toward or away from Podrick or toward or away from Harry. They were both poor options, really, Podrick’s rejection still stung Sansa, and Harry’s complete assholery just overwhelmed Sansa. 

She was out of her comfort zone for the first time ever and it sucked. She was the pretty girl who everyone liked for the most part. She had never been anything but that. She had never had to worry about being liked — she just never did.

And she refused to worry about it any longer. 

* * *

 

The clang of tea cups and Walda’s snorting laughter awaited Sansa when she made her way to breakfast. The bright sunshine made her wince as she entered, but she still tried to smile at the women who were seated at the table.

There were no men. 

Thank goodness, Sansa thought, before speaking. “Hello,” Sansa greeted, helping herself to a scone and a cup of tea. It was black tea. If only there was a lemon to drop in it, that’d make it taste much better.

Margaery nodded sagely at Sansa, looking as beautiful as ever. Sansa knew that she was considered a beauty, but sometimes it was hard to believe that when someone like Margaery existed. “Good morning,” the brunette greeted, before looking back to Walda, who was choking back a laugh. Once Walda pulled herself together, she spoke.

“Did you have pleasant dreams, Sansa?” she asked, holding back her giggles to the very end. It was almost impressive for Walda. 

Sansa rolled her eyes. “More like nightmares,” she jested, before taking a large bite out of her scone. It was filled with raspberry.

Brienne, who had been sitting quietly at the other end, sighed loudly. 

“We know Brienne had good dreams,” Margaery whispered audibly, just so Brienne could hear her. 

“Oh?” Sansa asked, happy to talk of something other than herself and Harry. Even if that meant throwing Brienne under the bus. “Why is that?”

Brienne spoke before Margaery could. “Margaery found me talking to Mr. Lyons in my pajamas. After our sleepover,” she clarified. “So she decided to assume things. Loudly.”

Sansa couldn’t help joining in on Walda’s laugh. Her poor friend, caught by the lion. “That’s not very Regency Appropriate, Brienne!”

Brienne rolled her own eyes. “As if anything is in this house anymore.”

“Well, that will change,” Margaery declared, her coy smile disappearing. “If Grandmother has any say in it and I assure you she has quite a lot on her mind.”

“I’d hope so,” Brienne mumbled. 

Sansa only laughed. “I’d be glad to get back to Regency sensibilities, actually.” 

Walda didn’t agree, slamming her hands on the table in dismay. “No, that’s so boring — I only like the dresses because my boobs look so good in them. Everything else is duller than — than—”

Margaery patted Walda’s hand consolingly and interrupted her friend. “Yes, they do, and that won’t change when the rules are enforced again. I’m not sure how they went awry in the first place.” 

Sansa glanced at Brienne who looked away, her face an ugly red. 

It was funny that the one who was the strongest stickler to the rules was also the one who broke most of them. 

* * *

Margaery wasn’t wrong. Lady Olenna was ready to reinforce the rules with a ruler if she had to. Or so she said, very intimidatingly in her office as she called each girl in, one by one. 

Brienne’s face was paler than normal when she left the room which didn’t leave much hope for Sansa, but Lady Olenna seemed to understand the situation that Sansa was place in with Harry.

“Mr. Hart,” Lady Olenna said, very clearly announcing that is how he was to be called the rest of Sansa’s stay there. Sansa was fine with that. “Well, Mr. Hart made a mistake. He said he was… method acting.” There was a twitch in Lady Olenna’s jaw that assured she did not believe that. Sansa almost smiled, but then remembered the severity of the situation. “That being said, he will keep to appropriate behaviors and distances from now on, and you two will not be alone together, at least until the ball.”

Sansa’s stomach plummeted but she tried not to show it on her face. “So he’s still to be my suitor?”

Lady Olenna eyed her. “You’d rather have someone else?” she asked, “I can understand that, he is a bit of a twat.” 

That wasn’t Regency Appropriate, Sansa wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead, Sansa thought of the other men and sighed. They were all perfectly suited to their ladies, in her mind. “No, I suppose not. Mr. Hart can be my suitor, still, if he doesn’t object anyhow.” If only Podrick was an actor, she thought wistfully. 

If only he kissed her back.

“Well, then,” Lady Olenna said, apparently satisfied with her response. “You will be chaperoned carefully by one of the maids at all times. All of the couples will be. We’ve had too many close calls this trip.”

Did Brienne leave something out when she slept over? “Um, ok then, should I fetch Walda?”

“Are you a dog?” Lady Olenna demanded before sighing heavily. It was almost as if Sansa’s mother was in the room. “Yes, fetch the girl, I don’t know how I’ll persuade her to _cool it_ , but I will try.”

Sansa tried to imagine that conversation and was unable to stifle a laugh. “Good luck.”

Lady Olenna waved her away, “Just go get the idiotic girl.”

_That was a bit unfair_ , Sansa thought, but informed Walda that Lady Olenna was ready for her anyhow. She wondered if Margaery would be forced into one of these conversations too but doubted it, although Loras probably was subject to one, based on his outburst the night before. 

All the men, except for maybe poor Mr. Stag, were probably forced into a staff meeting or something. Or maybe even poor Mr. Stag was being roped into it. 

She couldn’t imagine the trouble they were all in now. Or was this normal for Austenland?

Did this sort of thing happen every two weeks? Or were they just that _special_?

Sansa, for some reason, almost hoped that this was a normal occurrence. Then she wouldn’t feel so wretched. It wouldn’t be her fault this way, it’d just be a quirk of Austenland’s, something she couldn’t control. 

She couldn’t bear if this was because of her.

* * *

Somehow it seemed that the maids of the household had doubled in a day. There were so many women dressed up in lower class Regency gear that Sansa almost felt like she was on a movie set. 

She sat on the sofa with a book in her hand, amused at how the maids flurried from place to place, walking through the sitting area with a mission in mind. 

Or, rather, two missions in mind.

First was the fact the ball was soon so the entire place had to be in ‘tip-top shape’ as Margaery put it at lunch. Second was the fact each couple had to be chaperoned at all times — no matter if the man with the woman was the suitor or not. Margaery had been followed around when walking and talking with Renly— Mr. Stag, as did Walda with Mr. Lyons when they went looking for Brienne together.

Sansa had not seen Mr. Hart yet. She supposed he was still being reprimanded by Lady Olenna. Or, well, she hoped he was. He deserved to be.

“Miss Sansa?” 

_Well, there went my hopes_ , Sansa thought wryly. “What?” she asked, trying not to look up from her book. She knew she’d see Harry Hart there, looking devilishly handsome and pretending to be sorry. 

He wasn’t sorry. 

“I wanted to apologize —“

“Stop,” she said and for once he listened. Sansa almost smiled, but held it in. “Do not mention the theatrical to me ever again.”

“Miss Sansa —“

“It will be Miss Edwards from this point on, as it was before,” she interrupted. “I do not want to talk about the last week. Where is our chaperone?” Sansa looked up then, attempting to find one of the million maids that were wandering around Highgarden.

There was no one but Harry, who took her gaze as an invitation to sit beside her.

Sansa stiffened as he spoke. “I know you do not want me to speak on this matter, but I must,” he said, his voice low and strangely attractive. Ugh, why did he have to have such a hot English accent?

“No, you don’t,” Sansa corrected, removing herself from her seat. “If you cannot listen to my wishes, then we have nothing to say to each other.”

“Miss Edwards,” he sighed, “I am sorry.”

She looked back into his eyes. “No, you’re not.”

And then left the room.

* * *

Somehow Sansa managed not to cry until she reached her bed. Why did that interaction bother her so? Why did he make her feel like a stupid girl who barely knew what she was doing? And why was she still attracted to him? 

Oh, she missed Pod.

Was this how he felt when she kissed him? Confused and dismayed? 

_I want my mother. I want Arya. I want Arya to swear at Harry and tell me Pod isn’t worth this much sadness and I want my mother to brush my hair out of my eyes and kiss my forehead and tell me everything is going to be all right._

Sansa felt like a child, sobbing in bed at three in the afternoon for no real reason, wishing that her family was here. 

But… her family could be here. She had her phone. 

Swiftly, Sansa forced herself off the bed and started searching for where she hid her phone, almost jumping up and down in joy when she found it. Pressing her mother’s name quickly, she listened for the ring.

“Sansa?” her mother asked “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course, I’m fine!” Sansa lied. “I just wanted to check in on you.”

“Darling, you know I teach class at this time.”

“Wait... what time is it there?”

“Ten-fifteen in the morning,” her mother replied promptly. “But you’re in luck, class was canceled today, in lieu of a presentation in the union that I wanted them all to see. What is the matter though? Are you having fun? Is Brienne?”

“Brienne has the hottest guy ever as her suitor,” Sansa said, clinging onto something she felt comfortable talking about. “I think he’s really in love with her too.”

“Sansa,” her mother reprimanded, “I hope you’re not saying that to Brienne.”

“Uh.”

Her mother sighed. “Well, stop it. He’s an actor. They’re all actors. They’re playing a part. Now tell me about your… Mr. Darcy. Or is he more of a Colonel Brandon?”

Sansa scowled. “He’s more of a Willoughby.”

To Sansa’s surprise, Catelyn Stark laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart, but that doesn’t surprise me one bit. You always loved the charming bad boys in Jane Austen.”

Sansa thought of her crush on Henry Crawford, the 'villain' of Mansfield Park, and tried not to blush. Not that her mother could see it. “I guess.”

“Just don’t take it so seriously,” her mother suggested, somehow knowing the real problem. “It’s just flirting. With Regency words. You’re not marrying these men. Now, back to Brienne, does she like her suitor?”

“They get along really well,” Sansa said.

“I don’t know whether that’s good or bad,” her mother said after a quiet moment. “You know how Brienne is — always falling in love with men who are just a little kind to her.”

_And I’m always falling in love with men who are just handsome enough to tempt me._ “I’ll watch out for her,” Sansa promised. 

“Good,” her mother said. “Now I’m going to let you go. Are you going to call me again? Or email me? I hope you do.”

“Maybe,” Sansa sighed, “It just depends on how this last week goes.”

“Well, try to have fun."

Sansa smiled. “I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm about to enter and end the crazy part of the semester so maybe in two weeks, I'll be able to put up regular updates again! I really hope to finish this story by the New Year, or maybe even Christmas Day. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this short little chapter, things will get rolling again soon!


	16. Day Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne has a rough day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who wondered if Cersei was a thing in this world… well, let’s just say all will be revealed soon. 
> 
> And with that cryptic note, enjoy the chapter!

** Chapter Sixteen **

_ Rewind: Brienne’s Mother... BJA _

Brienne was barely four years old when her father woke her up to tell her mother was gone. 

She at first thought this meant her mother had left, the way one of her classmate’s dad left his family the year before, just getting up and going. 

It wasn’t until her father dressed her in a little black dress and took her to the funeral that she really, truly got it. 

She didn’t cry then, too shocked by the idea that her mother was in a box rather than playing with her out in the beautiful, grassy field.

Even years later, Brienne never really cried for her mother at all.

* * *

**_ Brienne - Austenland Day 15 _ **

Brienne tried to avoid Lady Olenna’s gaze at breakfast, looking towards her plate and her knife and fork and spoon and all the other cutlery that had been laid down on the table by the numerous maids that now occupied Austenland. Despite not looking up even once, Brienne knew that Lady Olenna was staring.

Their conversation yesterday had not gone well, with Lady Olenna insinuating, no flat-out stating, that Brienne had not been behaving in a Regency Appropriate manner. That at least the others, save Miss Walda who was a platinum guest, attempted to do so. 

Brienne had never felt so ashamed in her life. Apologies were spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them and somehow each time she said one she felt worse.

It was only later that night when she realized why that was.

It was because she wasn’t sorry at all.

She was angry.

Angry that she was the only one truly reprimanded — that not even Walda, the woman who talked about her tits 99% of the time, was given a small warning. Only Brienne, the one who chose the poorest package to save Catelyn money, was given an _actual reprimand_. 

Well, the men were too, but that’s because they had been acting shamefully! Brienne had tried sohard to be good, to be like a Regency Appropriate heroine, and instead she was being treated like she truly was Miss Harriet Smith — that she was the least of them all. 

It made her so very angry.

Not that Lady Olenna was trying to be cruel, Brienne recognized that, but the woman saw each guest as a certain number in her head — a number that indicated what each guest could do for her? 

She couldn’t even hate the old woman for that, it was a business, but it still hurt. 

“Grandmother, will Loras be coming around today, now that he’s… settled down?” Miss Margaery asked. Brienne couldn’t see the other woman’s face, she was too busy staring down at her food, but she could imagine the coy smile as easily as if Miss Margaery was right in front of her.

“He will,” Lady Olenna replied shortly. “He’ll be teaching you all to dance. The men may help over the next week as well, but for now, you’ll start out with my grandson, Mr. Tyrell.”

“Loras to me,” Miss Margaery whispered to Miss Walda, who was sitting next to Brienne. 

Sansa elbowed Brienne discreetly. “What’s the matter?” she asked quietly. “You haven’t lifted your head up once.”

“Nothing,” Brienne lied, too afraid to reveal her face, which she was sure was red from the exertion of lying. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

Sansa sighed. “Well, sleep better, we’re learning how to dance today and the rest of the week!”

* * *

But Sansa was wrong. Brienne wasn’t invited to the dance lessons.

“Copper package,” Lady Olenna said in a feigned apologetic tone, catching Brienne before she was able to enter the ballroom. “You’ll only be receiving two lesssons this week from my grandson. I do apologize but it was mentioned in the pamphlets. Unless you’d like to change your package now?”

“No.”

Lady Olenna’s smile was a strangled one. “I supposed as much.”

Brienne left her, torn between punching something or running away. But she could do neither. She had to be a Regency Appropriate Heroine who did the proper thing. And the proper thing in this case would be to be useful. To sew something. To draw. To practice the harpsichord or piano. Or to read the poetry of John Donne. Just _something…_

She itched to walk outside but was too worried that she would run into Hyle or poor Podrick. How could she explain Sansa to Podrick? How could she say anything to Podrick? 

So she hid indoors, finding a comfortable chair in the library that allowed her to peruse through all the books she had always wished she had time to read. She attempted to rejoice in her solitude, but felt more lonely than peaceful. 

Brienne could almost hear the laughter of the other girls in the ballroom and wished she was there as well, even though she suspected Loras Tyrell did not like her much. It would have been fun to learn the steps of the dances she grew up watching on the television screen during every BBC special that featured a Jane Austen novel. Instead… she was sitting and reading. 

Or rather, attempting to read. 

Because when Jaime found her, he found her staring at the same poem of Lord Byron’s that she had been looking at for twenty minutes. 

“What are you doing?” he asked her, as if they had not spoke yesterday morning in their pajamas. As if they all had not been scolded harshly by Lady Olenna.

Brienne shot up, almost hitting her head on a bookshelf. “Um, reading. What else would I be doing in a library?”

“Hiding.” Jaime glanced her over. “I heard your circumstances excluded you from Mr. Tyrell’s dance lessons.”

_Mr. Tyrell? Circumstances_? Clearly Lady Olenna had reached Jaime in her lectures. “Well, yes, but there will be other lessons that I’ll be privy to attend. Just not today’s.”

“Or tomorrow’s,” he reminded her, scowling as he did so. “She was cruel to you.”

“She’s your employer,” Brienne said. “You shouldn’t speak of her in such terms.”

“I don’t care,” Jaime said suddenly. “I don’t care about any of this anymore.”

For a wild moment as he approached her, Brienne wondered if he was going to kiss her wildly, like a Bronte hero rather than an Austen hero. But he stopped short and glared at her instead. “You want to know my story don’t you?”

“What?”

Jaime’s eyes were dark. “Cersei.”

“What?” Brienne said, still not understanding. His gaze was heavy on her shoulders and she was not sure if she could bear the weight. 

“My real life you’ve been wondering about — the lover you’ve been wondering about. Her name is Cersei.”

Somewhere in her chest, Brienne’s heart cracked. She kept still, hoping that the advice she was told as a child regarding wild animals could work on Jaime. He kept talking though, unaware of her lack of movement, or perhaps just uncaring. “Cersei’s my cousin.”

Brienne’s skin crawled. “Third or fourth cousin?” she asked hopefully.

The reply was a short, hard laugh.“ _First cousin_. And don’t look at me like that,” Jaime snapped. “Your Jane Austen wrote about cousins marrying didn’t she? My own family, posh as we are, was borne out of cousins marrying one each other, first, second, third — have to keep the bloodlines pure — just ask the bloody Queen about her lineage.”

Brienne bit her lip, as Jaime came even closer, his gait long and slow. She wanted to back away but couldn’t anymore, the bookshelf behind her feeling stronger than stone. His lips opened and then closed, as if he was thinking of his next response, so when he spoke, she was surprised by how assured he sound. “We were almost like twins growing up — we were even born on the same day in the same hospital. We looked exactly the same, we could dress up as each other and no one would know the difference, not even our mothers. We lived to make each other happy — sex only increased our love.”

_This really wasn’t Regency Appropriate._

Didn’t Lady Olenna have a conversation with him? Like she did with everyone else? Didn’t she make him feel guilty? Did he just not care?

“Jaime— Mr. Lyons,” Brienne tried to interrupt, but Jaime kept speaking, almost as if he was in a trance.

“We loved each other. Adored each other. Fucked each other.”

Brienne had never wanted to leave more but she couldn’t move. He was closer now and she was cornered.

“She married someone else,” Jaime said, his eyes, which usually sparkled at her, were so faraway now. “After this,” he gestured at his arm, “happened to me. She was always going to do it though. She was engaged before I went to war. Perhaps she was hoping I’d die.”

“Don’t say that,” Brienne said, not exactly sure why she was defending the woman. “She was probably just confused.”

His fury turned to her. “And I wasn’t? She was the one who instigated our relationship. I followed willingly, I would always follow willingly. If she asked me to kill someone, I would have done it. I wouldn’t have cared. I lost all sense when it came to her and I thought she did for me. But she didn’t.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Brienne asked. Her throat hurt. 

His smile mocked her. “In Austenland? Why else would I be here? Wooing rich girls who only need me to bat my eyes at them before they’re wet with need.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“This place is disgusting.”

Tears crowded Brienne’s eyes but she refused to let them fall in front of him. “It’s just supposed to be _fun_.”

“Because Jane Austen had so much fun in her life. She died alone.”

“Just like you will.” Brienne retorted, finally feeling strong enough to push her way past him.

She heard him say _ouch_ , but left the room before she let herself feel bad. He deserved worse than that. Why did he corner her? Why did he confess all that to her?

Why had he become an Asshole once again?

Walking out the front door, she cursed the fact that she couldn’t go on a proper run, because she sorely needed one right now. She didn’t want to think about Jaime and his cousin and Jane Austen. She just wanted to run with music thumping through her ears. 

But the closest thing to that would be horseback riding.

Although… _Hyle_ would be there. 

Brienne sighed. Did it even matter anymore? That kiss felt like a thousand years ago.Perhaps it was years ago, time didn’t seem to matter here. Perhaps this place was like a fairyland — years had passed in the outside world even though it only seemed like days had passed here.

So she left the house for the stable, hoping to find stability there.

* * *

Hyle was there when she arrived, the hem of her dress covered in mud, but somehow didn’t look surprised to see her. Brienne would have wondered about that, if she still wasn’t distracted by the thought of Jaime’s eyes burning into her own.

“May I take a horse out to ride?” she asked as politely as she could muster under the circumstances. Which wasn’t as polite as she’d like to sound — she could see Hyle wince while she spoke.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Hyle replied gently. “You are not an able horsewoman and should not go by yourself.”

Brienne’s jaw twitched. “Fine, then come with me. I need to get away from all of this.”

Hyle’s gaze struck her as soft. “You can leave. Truly leave, you know.”

Brienne blushed. “I can’t waste someone else’s money.”

“But you aren’t happy here,” he pointed out. “Is it truly a waste when you’re making yourself happy by leaving?”

“I can’t leave Sansa, sorry, Miss Sansa.”

“Convince her to leave with you.”

Brienne could imagine Sansa’s face at that suggestion. “I think not.”

“You are very persuasive, I’m sure you could do it.” Hyle said. 

When had he come so close? For one moment he was by a lovely white horse and the next, his hand was hovering over Brienne’s shoulder. Brienne was tired of backing away from men who didn’t have personal space, so she stood strong and still, and scowled at Hyle. 

He didn’t back away, instead he only smiled up at her. He had a nice smile. “You could persuade her, you know,” he said again.

Brienne shook her head. “Persuasive is not a word people use to describe me.” Nor would it ever be. 

“Well, you could try.”

“No.” 

Hyle changed tactics. “Why are you upset anyhow? Was it the actors?”

Brienne frowned. _Why did he care?_ “No,” she lied, although she was sure the lie stood out on her face. 

She just wasn’t a good liar.

Hyle sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You know, you don’t have to lie to me. We can be friends… again.”

“I just wanted to ride a horse.”

“Perhaps.” He grinned. “Or you wanted to talk to me again. Like we used to.”

_Men. Always thinking it was about them._ But, despite thinking that, Brienne couldn’t make herself leave the scene. 

She was so very lonely. Now that Jaime practically abandoned her with horrid thoughts about his character and the other women were dancing around, learning to become more like a proper Jane Austen heroine. She had no one here.

Except… Hyle.

How unfair was that though? The only man who had ever willingly kissed her, the only man she had ever been able to turn down, was the only person who could be her friend at this moment in time. 

Brienne never cried really, but she almost wanted to then. “I have to go,” she said instead, turning away. 

“Come by tomorrow, while the girls are dancing. One of the horses just gave birth,” Hyle said. “Don’t women love baby animals?”

“Perhaps,” Brienne said, rushing away from him. She almost tripped on the hem of her dress but threw out her arm to keep her in balance. Tumbling down a hill would only increase the shittiness of this day. 

So she kept it together, pretending as if it was all right.

That was until she got to her room, where Miss Mordane was straightening out her bed. “Child, what is the matter, your dress…”

And that is when Brienne burst into tears.

* * *

Miss Mordane was kind and told Lady Olenna that Brienne was too unwell to attend dinner. Instead the maid brought up soup and crackers and hot tea. “I know you’re not really sick,” she said to Brienne, “but these things are good for all ailments.”

Brienne smiled a little, still feeling foolish for crying at all. Perhaps her period was coming? That was the only explanation she could think of. That would just make this last week even more _fun_. 

“Now, what happened?” Miss Mordane asked after she set the tray over Brienne’s lap. Brienne laid in her bed, tucked into bed, while Miss Mordane sat on the edge, her quiet eyes staring right at Brienne, as if she could will the answers out.

“I don’t know,” Brienne said. “I think a lot of things happened. I think this place is more stressful than relaxing.”

Miss Mordane frowned. “I shall alert Lady Olenna about that. She will not be pleased to hear it. But things have been so strange lately. This group has brought out a peculiar side in the gentlemen… or perhaps we just need new gentlemen.”

“Oh no,” Brienne said, “I don’t want them to lose their jobs!”

“They don’t stay long anyhow, dear. They’re actors.”

_Jaime isn’t_ , she wanted to say. _He’s a war veteran in desperate need of real therapy._

But she couldn’t even think about him now. The idea the he wanted to help his cousin cheat — the idea that he was romantically and sexually entwined with a married woman who was his _cousin._ It was too much for Brienne. 

And she thought…

Why did he have to say those things?

Miss Mordane was still watching her. “Sansa wanted to visit you, do you want to rest or have a visitor?”

While seeing Sansa would have been very nice, Brienne felt as if she’d just cry all over again if Sansa started asking questions. And she hated crying. “No, I think I just need sleep. I’ll see her tomorrow.”

Miss Mordane got up to leave but then stopped. “Oh, I was supposed to remind you that everyone has to dance with everyone else. You can’t have more than two dances from the same gentlemen on your card. But I’m sure you were aware of the rules.”

Brienne was — it would have been quite a scandal in Regency England to dance three dances to a man you were not married to. “Yes, but thank you.”

“Sleep well, Brienne,” Miss Mordane said, closing the door, leaving the light on so Brienne could eat in peace. 

Brienne munched on a cracker and wished that the week was over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so while this is another sad chapter, IT GETS BETTER AGAIN. you can see why i struggled with it though, there’s a lot of little things going on and nothing very funny happens in it at all. the next chapters SHOULD be funnier. should being the key word of course.


	17. Day Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa runs into an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL HELLO THERE. After almost six months of silence, here is the newest chapter of Austenland. Enjoy and I'll see you at the bottom.

** Chapter Seventeen **

_ Rewind: Another One of Sansa’s Heartbreaks _

Sansa was quick to dance and quick to laugh and quick to love, or so her mother always told her. Sansa made sure to always take it as a compliment. By the way her mother laughed when said it, she meant it as one. 

But one night Sansa came home late from a shitty date and her mother just stared at her with the most reproachful gaze that Sansa immediately felt ashamed, although she had done nothing wrong. She was over 21, she had not agreed to the boy’s demands to her v-card, she had said everything correctly, she had done everything so right and yet….

Her mother just sat there looking at Sansa as if she was the child who came home with muddy knees every day.

That was Arya, not Sansa.

Her mother only sighed. “You’re too quick to fall in love with these boys. And then you’re surprised when you come home late with torn stockings.”

“They’re leggings,” Sansa corrected, looking down at her knees. Oh dear, they were torn. It wasn’t her fault she had to push the nasty boy off her while they were supposed to be stargazing. _It wasn’t_. And she told her mother so.

“Insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results,” her mother quoted. Her blue eyes were not kind as she looked upon Sansa. “I did not raise an insane or stupid daughter.”

Sansa wanted to cry but made sure she didn’t. She had learned that much dating idiot boys. “Perhaps you did,” she only said, before rushing up the stairs.

Sansa desperately wanted to call Jeyne or even Brienne, although she suspected the latter would say similar things as her mother. Instead, she crawled into Arya’s bed. Arya wasn’t asleep, just reading a book, and only looked at Sansa curiously before continuing to read. 

With the comforting noise of Arya’s breathing and the flipping of pages, Sansa fell asleep, still wearing her torn leggings. 

* * *

**_ Sansa - Austenland Day 16 _ **

Sansa unlocked her phone with a frown. She hadn’t received any messages from anyone the past day. Usually, someone would contact her. Sansa never usually was able to reply quickly, her phone being hidden in her room typically hindered prompt replies, but she’d usually get a Snap from Jeyne or a text message filled with poop emojis from Arya, or a lecture-y email from her mother, and yet nothing happened in the past 24 hours. 

She actually missed the poop emoji message, despite the fact she, when physically around Arya, would throw a pillow at her younger sister’s head for sending her the stupid message filled with poop. 

Sansa tried getting on Facebook on her phone — to see if people were doing stuff or just too busy or if an earth-shattering event had happened, something really important that wouldn’t reach her at Austenland, like a war or an attack or a natural disaster. 

But, fortunately, none of those things were the case. Or so Sansa was hoping because she couldn’t get on the internet. 

Sansa glanced at the bars on her phone and realized that they were at zero. There was typically Wi-Fi available, without a lock, possibly from the actors’ residence. She had no 3G or 4G or LGE or whatever else Gendry and Arya talked about when they weren’t hitting (on?) each other, she had no access to the outside world.

Oh boy, her mother was going to _freeeeeeeeaaaaaaaakkkk._ Her mother hated when she couldn’t be in contact with her children.And since Sansa knew that Brienne was supposed to be emailing her mother on the regular, well, she just felt very sorry for her poor father who would have to deal with the worries of her mother.

Sansa suspected that Brienne had no idea that Sansa knew about the emails. But Sansa wasn’t stupid, contrary to what many assumed. She knew, of course. She just liked to pretend she didn’t know. It was more entertaining that way.

Or so she told herself.

Without the internet or her far-away friends to amuse her, Sansa called for the maid, ringing the little bell that hung by her door, and tried to pick out a dress. They were all lovely but she was starting to miss the comfort of a cotton sundress.  When she was dressed and ready, she thanked Miss Roelle for helping her and made her way to breakfast. 

She was the first of the ladies to arrive it seemed, other than Lady Olenna, who had a smug grin slapped on her face. The smile reminded Sansa of Theon and she resisted sighing. She would have even welcomed an accidental dick pic from him, just to know that he was still ok and still gross. The first and only time ( _so far_ ) this had happened was when she was with Jeyne at a college party and they both screamed upon opening the message. It was fun trying to explain that to the bewildered people around them.

“How are you, dear?” Lady Olenna asked, her smug look unceasing. Sansa smiled back, trying not to feel too dismayed. Something had happened and Sansa wasn’t sure what that was. 

“Oh, you know,” Sansa yawned. “Exhausted. Who knew that a holiday could be so draining?”

“The best holidays always are,” Lady Olenna replied. “Which explains why the rest of my guests are not here.”

“And the gentlemen?” Sansa dared to ask.

“They were not invited this morning. You shall see them at dance practice today.”

One of the maids poured Sansa tea into a glass teacup and Sansa thanked her. She sipped the tea, grimaced at the taste, and added three sugar cubes before asking Olenna the question that had been on her mind since yesterday. “Will Brienne join us today?”

“For a bit,” Lady Olenna said. Her gaze left Sansa’s face and focused on her own cup of tea. “For one lesson,” she amended. 

Sansa’s heart sunk. “Only one?”

Lady Olenna opened her mouth to answer, but before she could Walda pounced into the room, her hair disheveled. “Why can’t I check Facebook!?” she yelled at Lady Olenna.

Lady Olenna’s smug grin was back but she said nothing, only sipped her tea. Sansa was strongly reminded of an Internet meme Bran liked to send her whenever she asked him for advice. 

“Well?” Walda asked, her hands on her hips. “How am I supposed to get my entertainment news?”

“You knew what you signed up for when you came here,” Lady Olenna said, putting her cup down. Sansa was surprised it didn’t break. “Now stop that screeching, go back upstairs, fix your hair, and come back down like the Regency Appropriate lady you are underneath your vulgarities.”

Walda gaped at Lady Olenna’s firm tone and obeyed. When she left, Sansa stared at Lady Olenna, who sipped her tea calmly, as if Walda had never shown up.

“You turned off the Wi-Fi?” Sansa asked, blushing when she realized she had outed herself as a user of technology in Regency times.

Lady Olenna didn’t reply. 

She only winked.

* * *

Brienne looked distraught as she joined them in the ballroom, flushing pinker than the dress she had been forced in.

“It’s one of the only ballgowns in the closet,” she sighed to Sansa, who pursed her lips in camaraderie as a reply. Pink was not a good color for Brienne. 

Sansa’s practice ballgown was also pink, but less of a vomit pink and more of a rose. She wasn’t sure if she looked that good in it either, with her red hair, but Mr. Hart complimented her anyhow. 

“Thank you,” she said primly. He took her hand and guided her through the steps and Sansa again was reminded of how long each set of these were. A whole half hour just for one dance. No wonder lovers could have long conversations and get to know one another as they danced. No wonder Darcy fell in love with Elizabeth in such a short time.

Brienne’s partner was Loras, who looked rather strapping in his regency get-up. His reasoning behind that was because she had yet to practice even one dance, so she needed the expert.

It wasn’t going well. Brienne was stumbling under Loras’ practiced glare and Brienne was blushing and glaring back all at once. 

The rest of the couples were doing much better. Mr. Lyons danced with Walda while Mr. Stag danced with Margaery. Both couples were laughing when their partner made a mistake, rather than reprimanding each other. 

Mr. Hart was doing neither such thing when Sansa screwed up. Apologizing and smirking was more his taste, much to Sansa’s annoyance. 

The music from Loras’ CD player (which was somehow excused from being Regency Appropriate… although who used a portable CD stereo system to play music now?) stopped and Loras, who had been turning purple in rage or annoyance, Sansa couldn’t tell, changed back to his normal coloring. 

Brienne also breathed a sigh of relief. 

“That’s it,” Loras said, “Thank the Lord that is it. Brienne, now we will be doing the more advanced dances so…”

“Oh,” Brienne said, her expression of relief replaced with something much more complicated. “I understand.”

“She can have my spot!” Sansa found herself saying. “I don’t mind.”

“I’m sorry, Sansa, but we can’t allow that,” Margaery said. “Grandmother’s rules.”

_Fuck her rules,_ Sansa wanted to say, but instead she just smiled and nodded, not trusting herself to speak. 

“It’s all right, Sansa,” Brienne consoled. “I’ll entertain myself.”

“Like yesterday?” Mr. Lyons asked, a peculiar look on his face. 

Brienne pretended as if she didn’t hear and curtsied terribly before leaving the room. It wasn’t fair that Brienne had fewer dances lessons than the rest. But, Sansa tried not to worry about it. Worrying about it would just make it worse. 

By 'it', she meant staring into Mr. Hart’s stupid face. He smiled at her pleasantly and she smiled back, hoping that her dislike wasn’t showing. He was being so obnoxiously nice to her that it was getting annoying.

_Only three more half-hour long dances to go._

* * *

After the dance lessons, there was an hour of freedom before dinner. Margaery and Walda invited Sansa and Brienne for a walk on the ground, and while Brienne demurred, Sansa accepted.

Sansa wished Brienne was going with them, but Brienne did seem much more into her novel that she had picked up while they had all been dancing, then walking with them in the hedge maze. 

“It’s such a lovely day,” Margaery said, breathing in the air. 

Sansa thought Margaery was pushing it a bit. While it wasn’t wet, it was very grey. But still, it was better than rain. “Yes, it is,” Sansa agreed.

“Who cares about the weather?” Walda grumbled. “I miss my Wi-Fi.”

“You still have television,” Margaery pointed out. “Sansa doesn’t even have that.”

“I guess,” Walda said.

“Why do you want Wi-Fi so much anyhow, Walda?” Sansa asked.

“Um, for Facebook stalking?” Walda looked at Sansa like she was nuts. “For news, for connecting with my peeps —“

“I think we understand,” Margaery declared as they turned another corner in the maze. This part of the maze wasn’t as well-kept, Sansa noticed. Brambles tore at their dresses and Sansa winced when she was pricked by a branch.

“Oh no, Sansa you’re bleeding,” Margaery noticed. “We need to get antibiotic on that immediately.”

_They didn’t have antibiotic in 18-whatever._ “Um, yeah, I’m ok.”

“No, no.” Margaery looked genuinely concerned as she examined Sansa’s arm. Sansa looked as well. The cut was deeper than she thought but she wasn’t willing to admit this out loud. “This doesn’t look good at all, come on, let’s go back.”

“It will be fine,” Sansa protested, not eager to go back to the house. Mr. Hart was in the house. Mr. Hart and boredom were in the house.

“Sansa,” Margaery said in a _very serious_ tone of voice. 

“Margaery,” Sansa mocked.

Walda rolled her eyes at both of them. “Well, I’m going on ahead either way,” she declared, marching forward and turning left at the next branch of the maze.

Within seconds, she was gone, and Sansa was left with Margaery who looked between Sansa and the left turn. Sansa sighed. “You go find her, I’ll go back to the house and find a first aid kit.”

“Thank you,” Margaery said, kissing Sansa on the cheek as she did. “She’ll get terribly lost, I’m sure. You have more sense than that.”

Sansa laughed but Margaery had already disappeared. _Thank goodness,_ Sansa thought and turned right at the next branch. Now she could explore the maze by herself, without any interruptions. 

She wondered if she’d find the center of the maze before Walda did and amused herself by imagining how Margaery would react if Sansa got lost. That was until she heard the hedge clippers up ahead.

Closing her eyes she prayed that it wasn’t Podrick. There were other handymen or whatever he was employed at Highgarden, she knew there was. 

But, of course, it was Podrick she found at the curve, no one else. He was bent down, unable to see her, focused on his task of cutting down the brambles, the back of his ears brown from the dirt. He must have wiped his ears with his gloves, she thought.

She debated about turning around, suddenly feeling the sting of her earlier injury, but Podrick sighed heavily, turned around to reach for his bottled water and saw her. 

He looked as upset as she felt.

“Um, hello,” she squeaked. 

He nodded and reached for his water bottle, twisting the top off so he could take a sip. But he must have been gripping the bottle too tight because the water overflowed all over him. “Crap,” she heard him mumble.

“Oh no,” she said, not sure what to do. It wasn’t as if she had a spare water bottle hiding in her corset. Although that would have been handy.

“It’s all right,” he smiled, although it was pained. “I have another bottle in my pack.”

Sansa nodded. She wanted to say something, anything to pierce the quiet between them, but had no clue what to do or say. Should she apologize for Harry kissing her? Should she apologize for kissing Pod? Should she just turn around and run away?

Her feet were about to move when he spoke. “You, uh, did a good job at the— um, theatrical.”

She blushed. “That was unscripted.”

He matched her blush. “I didn’t mean that. I meant before that. Everyone else wasn’t taking it seriously, well other than Miss Tyrell, she always does, according to the others, but you were.”

Sansa felt like crying. How was he so kind? Was it truly possible for someone to be this kind? “Thank you.”

They stared at one another for much too long, Sansa suspected but didn’t care. She may not have loved him, it was silly to think that, why on earth had she thought that, but she did like him. She liked him very, very much. 

“I should go back,” she said while Podrick’s gaze had moved from her face to her arm.

“What happened?”

Sansa grimaced. “Oh, well, you know, branches. Earlier.”

“I should fix that,” Podrick said. She was about to tell him where the branches were when he pulled out the pack that had been hiding behind him, bringing out a tiny first aid kid.

Sansa blinked. “Oh.”

“Can you reach it?” he asked her, holding out the antibiotic and band-aid. “Or do you need me to put it on?”

A terribly devious part of her wanted to insist on him putting it on, but instead she smiled and did the Regency Appropriate thing. “I can reach, thank you.”

She didn’t even get to touch his bare skin as he handed over the antibiotic — he was still wearing his gardening gloves. Carefully, she removed the antibiotic’s cap and placed it on the cut, wincing at the sting. 

“You might need stitches for that,” Podrick observed.

“I hope not,” Sansa said. “I’m afraid of needles. Well,” she amended, “other than knitting needles that is, but that’s obviously different.”

“You knit?” he asked, removing his gloves. She wondered why he was doing that, but he quickly answered that question by placing two band-aids over her wound. “You really might need to go to the hospital, Sansa. Or perhaps Lady Olenna can bring a doctor here.”

Sansa had stopped paying attention. “You said my name,” she smiled. 

Podrick was much closer than he had been before. “I did,” he said. “Let me guide you back to the house, so we can get this cleared up. What were you doing here by yourself?”

“I wasn’t by myself at first, Margaery and Walda had come out with me,” Sansa explained, wishing she could hold his hand. She was acting stupid again, she knew, but couldn’t help it. He was just so freaking nice.

And cute.

“Where did they go?” he asked.

“Don’t know,” Sansa said. 

“Oh.” 

They walked through the maze together, side by side. So close that she could almost feel the warmth of his shoulders. “Do you really think I’ll need stitches?”

Podrick laughed - a quiet one that Sansa enjoyed thoroughly. “I don’t know. I think so.”

Sansa sighed. “I suppose if it must be done.”

Podrick’s laugh grew. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’re brave.”

Brave was not a word Sansa had ever been assigned. “Why do you say that?” she asked, curious.

He gave her a sideways glance. “You came here, didn’t you?”

Her only reply was a smile.

* * *

In the end, stitches were not needed, although one of those stupid butterfly band-aids was. Lady Olenna tutted at her for being careless, as though it was Sansa’s fault that the branches tore at her.

But she didn’t care. 

Because she was brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuses: Grad School, Job Hunting, and Genuine Fatigue.  
> Also, writer's block concerning this chapter. Literally until today, had almost zero idea where I was going with it. But we're nearing the end guys! In a few more days/chapters the ball will be approaching and then we'll hit the climax harder than.... *insert tired dirty joke here*.


	18. Day Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime reclaim a tentative peace with one another.

**_Chapter Eighteen_ **

_Rewind: The Film, Brienne AJA_

Brienne was a teenager when she was finally allowed to go to the movie theater by herself. While everyone else had been able to go since middle school, Brienne was already in high school. Her father worried over her distantly but knew her well enough to trust that she’d never disobey any command he set for her — at least not any reasonable one, so he requested that she didn’t go to the movies without an adult present.

This tortured Brienne when a certain adaption of Pride and Prejudice came out in theaters — and it was only after she forced her father to sit through three viewings that he finally allowed her freedom to go to the movies without an adult.

And then she saw it three more times in all its melodious, sexual tension-filled beauty. Now she could finally hear Mr. Darcy confess his love for Elizabeth Bennet without her father’s soft snoring in the background. 

* * *

 

**_ Brienne - Austenland Day 17 _ **

The day, like every other day at Austenland, began with Miss Walda being very, very inappropriate.

Brienne was annoyed that she was still surprised when Walda spoke out of turn. She was still annoyed that Walda _still_ wasn’t being scolded about her behavior by Lady Olenna. And she was most annoyed that she didn’t even begrudge Walda for any of it. Brienne should have begrudged Walda, but she couldn’t help but like the other woman. Even as that woman began talking about hot film actors and their abs that would not have existed in 18-whatever.

“Speaking of hot actors,” Margaery interrupted Walda's diatribe, fanning herself with an actual fan. It looked beautiful, woven in silk — something straight out of Marie Antoinette’s Versaille rather than Jane Austen’s countryside. “Can we talk about Colin Firth?”

Sansa wrinkled her nose. Brienne could see each one particularly well as they were sitting next to each on the divan in the drawing room.“Why? He’s not hot.”

“What?” Brienne had never seen Margaery’s eyes flash in anger before and never wanted to see her do that again. “He’s a treasure! _He’s Mr. Darcy_!”

Sansa's crinkles grew deeper as she laughed. “No, he's definitely not.”

“Then who is Mr. Darcy?” Margaery asked.

“2005 Darcy,” Sansa argued. "He's the best Mr. Darcy."

Brienne blinked. This would not end well.

Margaery’s smile was sour. “Colin Firth has played Mr. Darcy more times than I dare to count —“

“And he’s been terrible in all the versions! **All. of. them**.”

“You are telling me you’d rank Colin Firth below 2005 Darcy?” Margaery’s smile disappeared. 

“If I had to rank actors who played Mr. Darcy,” Lady Olenna drawled, appearing in the doorway to the drawing room. Brienne felt a blush worm its way up her back. _She had heard them being Regency Inappropriate!_ “I would pick Colin Firth, obviously,” Lady Olenna declared, finding a seat next to her granddaughter who smiled at her, apparently delighted with her grandmother's choice of the best Mr. Darcy. “He is the best.” 

Sansa shook her head so vehemently that Brienne was afraid for a moment that it’d fly off. Or, more realistically, that Sansa would have to schedule a chiropractic appointment very, very soon. “No, no, no! 2005 Darcy!” 

“You don’t even remember the actor’s name,” Margaery pointed out with a great deal of satisfaction. “I’m with Grandmother, Colin Firth is the perfect Mr. Darcy.”

Sansa crossed her arms. “Now, listen here, you cannot beat the rain scene!” she said. 

“Are we debating the actual adaptions now?” Lady Olenna asked, a brow raised. “Then of course it's the BBC miniseries. It's the most accurate.”

“And it has Colin Firth,” Margaery added, a shameless smirk on her face. 

“He’s not Mr. Darcy to me!” Sansa said. “At all.”

“You’re too young for him, I suppose,” Lady Olenna tutted. 

“I am not!” Sansa said, outraged. “He’s just not Mr. Darcy!”

“Well, then, you are decidedly very young for such decided opinions.”

Brienne smiled at the botched Lady Catherine de Bourgh quote. Sansa did not. “2005 Darcy is the best!” she insisted.

“His name is Matthew McFayden,” Walda said, chiming into the conversation for the first time. At their incredulous looks she shrugged. “I like movies. And hot actors.” 

“Um, yes,” Sansa said, struggling not to — _laugh? be annoyed? — say something rude?_ “But,” she added, “isn't he the best Darcy?”

Walda shrugged, “They’re all hot. But I think I like the Darcy in the zombie movie best of all.”

Margaery laughed. “Oh, Walda, you would think that.”

“He is a decent Darcy,” Brienne said, hoping to end the conversation there. “Shall we ring for the gentlemen and take walks around the park? Would that be agreeable?”

Lady Olenna shook her head. “Not yet. Who is your favorite Mr. Darcy, Miss Knight?” The old lady’s eyes were flashing and for a moment Brienne hated her. 

Brienne ducked her head, hoping to hide her red face... and save herself a few minutes. But it was no use - she could feel their expectant stares on the back of her head. “The zombie one,” she finally said, feeling ridiculous agreeing with Walda, who was clueless about all things Jane Austen. But Brienne couldn’t help but like him best. He was the Mr. Darcy who respected an Elizabeth Bennet who fought! He was also one of the more handsome ones - Renly looked a bit like him if she squinted. 

“For such a stickler to the rules, you do like to spice things up don’t you, dear?” Lady Olenna asked in that way that meant she wasn’t truly asking at all.  Brienne buried her face in her hands while a ring of laughter pealed around the room. She stood up, not really eager to be laughed at anymore, and straightened her dress. 

“Where are you going?” Lady Olenna asked, frowning as she did so. "We just got started in our discussion."

“I just thought it’d be nice to actually reread Pride and Prejudice,” Brienne said, remembering how she had found an old copy of it yesterday in the library, where she had stowed herself away while the others danced away their afternoon hours. She only stopped when she found out that Sansa had injured herself roaming the hedge maze. “Reading about Mr. Darcy instead of just talking about Mr. Darcy.”

Margaery grinned, “That is a good idea, we should all reread and discuss it tomorrow!”

Walda’s face fell. “By tomorrow? I haven’t even read it before.”

“We don’t possess enough copies for such a thing anyhow, Margaery,” Lady Olenna said, not sounding very disappointed. “But, yes, you go ahead, Miss Knight. Enjoy Mr. Darcy, especially now that the rest of the girls are off to their dance lessons.” 

Brienne pulled up her skirts and curtsied, trying not to let her relief at her exclusion show on her face. The dance lessons were terrible and she had a sinking feeling the ball would be worse than the lessons. While the dances in the films and other adaptions always looked beautiful, that was because they featured light, nimble feet and people who were enjoying themselves. Brienne felt awkward dancing in a line. What made it worse was that she thought it would be easier than dancing in a club.

The few times that Sansa had dragged her out clubbing, Brienne had folded herself into a corner, keeping watch out for creepy men putting things in Sansa’s and Jeyne’s drinks, but even then sometimes she found herself dancing in the dark room, unable to see or hear anything but darkness and the thrumming bass line. The room would smell of sweat and alcohol but at that point not even she would care, laughing as Sansa jumped up and down on the dance floor, even joining the antics when Jeyne pulled her in. 

Regency dancing wasn’t dark, unless the candles were low, and there was no hiding from everyone. Brienne would be on display, everyone could see any mistakes she made, her partner most of all. Her partner would have to suffer with her for a half hour or so, if the set was long, and the couples were many and there were sure to be many couples at a _ball!_

Perhaps she should have been more envious of the dance lessons.

Instead of heading to the library, as she told Lady Olenna, Brienne found herself wandering down to the kitchens. _I wonder if Jaime will be here, stealing Harry’s food._

He was not there, there was only the cook who looked at her as if she was mad for wandering in. Trying not to turn red, Brienne excused herself and ran back upstairs, unsure of what to do. She could continue rereading Pride and Prejudice, she supposed, but for once in her life she felt as if Jane Austen was not the solution. 

_ Jane Austen was the problem. _

A part of her wanted to die rather than admit such a thing, but it was true. Jane Austen, or at least the Regency Era, was sucking out Brienne’s soul. 

The closer it got to the end of her story, the happier she’d be, Brienne knew. The closer Jaime or Renly or whomever it was that was her happy ending came to confessing his love and devotion to her, the sooner she’d be out of Austenland and back to the drudgery of the real world instead of the cotton dresses and tight corsets and stays of the Regency Era. 

She wished she could confide in Professor Stark about her problems instead of just telling her every day that Sansa was fine until yesterday anyhow. She wished she had access to communicate any of these thoughts since Lady Olenna somehow shut it all off. Professor Stark was probably getting worried that Brienne hadn’t sent a message in _two whole days._

Perhaps she should try to visit Hyle. She wasn’t exactly eager to do that but… talking to someone would be nice. She visited yesterday before she went to the library. Hyle wasn’t inappropriate with her at all, for once, only making her smile with his terrible puns and jokes until she left him for the comforting words of Jane Austen.

She hoped it would be more of the same sort of Hyle today.

Hyle was already within the stable, feeding a horse some carrots. He smiled when he saw her and he almost looked handsome when he did so. But she felt no attraction to him. He was just... there. 

Was this how every man saw her? Or did they feel a wrinkle of disgust?

“Hey there,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see you again.”

She shrugged. “Well, I’m here.” 

“So I see.”

Brienne stood there, awkwardly, before rushing up to grab a carrot out of Hyle’s hands, eager to do something other than stand around without speaking. She handed the carrot to the horse who bit it out of her hands so quickly that for a moment she thought that Jaime wouldn’t be the only one missing a hand at Austenland. Hyle laughed at her startled expression and then made easy conversation with her. He spoke so nicely that she almost forgot that they had kissed before. She even laughed once when he did a spot-on impression of Lady Olenna, hunching over so far down that his head barely reached her waist, and the steely look in his eyes was uncannily like the little old lady’s. 

“Now,” he said, his voice creaky, “is Highgarden not the most beautiful place in the world? It is all right to lie, you know, I do it all the time.”

Brienne shook her head at his terrible impression. “You are incorrigible,” she told Hyle. 

Hyle straightened himself back up. “And you’re encouraging me.”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Perhaps,” she said. 

“Only perhaps?” Hyle said. He moved closer to her, while she patted the nose of the horse. 

Her heart raced. _Oh, not again._

But then a clatter arose. _Was it raining again? Will I have to slink back to Highgarden with my dress plastered to my legs? Lady Olenna will not be pleased about that._ She turned to face the stable door, curious to see if it was rain filling the air with noise when she saw Jaime. 

_He must’ve made the noise,_ she thought as she gaped at him. He still looked handsome, even now as he just stood there, a scowl marring his beautiful face. _Why does he get to look so good even now?_ “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his eyes souring. His false hand sat by his waist, until he folded his arms in annoyance when he noticed her looking at it.

Brienne glared at him. “I’m brushing a horse. I’m not allowed at the dance lessons, remember?”

“And whose fault is that?” Jaime asked. 

Hyle interrupted, “Mr. Lyons, sir, you should speak gentler to a lady such as Miss Knight.”

Jaime rolled his eyes, “Bloody hell, Hyle, I saw you kiss her.”

Brienne dropped the brush on the ground while Hyle turned white as a sheet. “Uh, I’ll just be going then,” he said. Brienne had never seen a man run out the door so quickly — and she had made many men run away from her in her lifetime.

After watching Hyle turn smaller and smaller, she whirled back to Jaime, furious. “How dare you say that to him.”

“He was being a pompous ass.”

She gritted her teeth. “As if you’re never a pompous ass.”

“We already have enough pompous asses, we don’t need another one featuring the goddamn help.”

Brienne blinked. “How elitist.”

His teeth were blindingly white. “Charming, Americans thinking they’re better than us.”

“I didn’t say anything like that!”

“Well, if you’re done being upset over nothing, I came looking for you to tell you that the idiot Harry, excuse me, _Mr. Hart,_ is driving your friend mad, in both uses of the word. But if you’d rather flirt with Hyle…”

“I was not flirting!” 

“Yes, _of course_ you weren’t. My apologies. It’s just that, in every film I’ve ever seen bonding over a horse leads to sexual relations.”

“What on earth kind of films are you watching?”

He ignored her question and came over to stare down the horse. “She’s mine, you know.”

“What?” Brienne was confused at the rapid change of topic. 

“My horse. I had her brought here for a few reasons. Mostly the reason was I couldn’t bear to be separated from her. Not after…” he went silent. Brienne bit her lip. _The war._

Jaime continued after a moment of staring into the horse’s eyes, “In any case, I wasn’t expecting her to be impregnated here and so now I have another horse. A little foal. I assume Hyle showed you, pretending that he did the birthing?”

“I haven’t seen her yet,” Brienne admitted although Hyle had promised to show the foal off. 

“She’s an ugly thing, almost as ugly as you.” Brienne scowled at his words but he kept talking as if she hadn’t made a face. “I can show you, if you’d like... that is.”

Annoyed that she was curious enough to agree to spending more time with Jaime, she assented with only a nod. 

He smiled and led her away from the horse’s stall, taking her to an entirely different, smaller stable hidden by the woods. “I didn’t know this was here,” Brienne said.

Jaime shrugged. “Well, it’s here. With better staff than that ridiculous Hyle. Addam,” he called out into the stable. 

A rugged man almost as handsome as Jaime appeared and for a moment Brienne was flustered. “What the hell do you want, Lannister?” the man called Addam asked, pushing aside a strand of copper hair that floated in front of his eyes. 

“Lyons here, Addam,” Jaime nodded at Brienne. Addam did a double take. 

“They aren’t supposed to be here, Jaime,” he warned, but let them both in.

“I’m sorry,” Brienne whispered to him but Addam shook his head.

“I don’t care, really. I’m mostly confused on why he's bringing you here.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Jaime demanded. His stride was longer than theirs, an impressive feat since Addam was not a short man, and she was taller than them both. 

Addam spoke first. “I’m confused on why you brought a lady here. Considering Lady Olenna’s orders.”

Jaime laughed. “This is no lady. This is a wench. Brienne, Addam. Addam, Brienne.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes at Jaime but shook Addam’s proffered hand. 

“This is the horse,” Jaime said, showing Brienne a pretty, palomino foal hidden behind the only stall in the stable. “I haven’t yet named her.”

“Do you have any ideas?” Brienne asked, her voice hushed. Looking at the foal made her feel as if she was at church, that she had to be quiet and peaceable. Even with Jaime.

“A few,” he said. She could feel his gaze pressing into the side of her face and she resisted squirming. “But I like Sapphire the best.”

“Sapphire is a stupid name for a racehorse,” Addam said.

Jaime ignored him and kept looking at Brienne until she finally looked back. “It’s… nice,” she said, unsure of why he cared so much about her good opinion. Especially considering how he treated her not two days ago. Why wasn’t he being an Asshole again? Why was he being kind? Or as kind as Jaime could ever be. 

“Then it’ll be her name,” he said in a way that made Brienne shiver.

“I still say you need a better name than that,” Addam said, ignorant of whatever was happening between her and Jaime. “But it’s your horse.”

“That she is. When she’s a bit bigger I’ll send her to my father’s. He’ll probably agree with you about the name, but he won’t change it.”

“Well, I should... go back. Since you came down to find me anyhow to help Sansa with Hyle— I mean Harry!” Brienne flushed. 

Jaime’s grin was almost contagious. “Oh yes, Hyle-Harry, the worst monster of all. I hope you can defeat him, Miss Knight.”

“I will,” she said, not sure what else to say to Jaime. 

“I should walk you back,” he said. “It’s getting quite dark out.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Who said I was protecting _you_?” Jaime laughed and then offered his left arm. Brienne took it, trying not to notice how she could feel heat radiating through his jacket. How his arms felt almost as strong as her own.

Addam wished them both a good afternoon as they left and then it was just the two of them, arm-in-arm, walking across Highgarden’s grounds.

“Why did you tell me that story about your cousin?” she found the courage to ask, her breath turning into mist from the cold air. She wondered when the temperature dropped and almost grabbed Jaime’s arm tighter but resisted in doing such a stupid thing. _I am not a silly girl who needs a man to hold onto. I am not. No matter how cold it is._

He said nothing for so long she was afraid she had offended him or that he suspected she wanted to hold on tighter and she opened her mouth to apologize for all of her questions and thoughts when all of his thoughts came spilling out with a smile. “Because I wanted to scare you off.”

“What?”

“From being my friend,” he clarified.

Brienne was even more confused. “Why would you do that?”

“Lady Olenna convinced me that it would be better to keep my distance from you. But, as you can see, that’s nearly impossible to do.”

_“Why would she say that?”_ Brienne wanted to ask but did not. Perhaps it was a part of the storyline. Perhaps it wasn’t. Either way, it seemed wrong to know the truth.

And, truthfully, Brienne wasn't sure if she wanted to hear it. 

* * *

 When they arrived back at Highgarden, Brienne found Sansa engaged in battle with Mr. Hart as Jaime suggested she would be. They stood in opposite sides of the drawing room, looking as if they belonged in a Wild West showdown despite their Regency clothes. Sansa’s eyes were wide and angry, and her pale skin was flushed redder than her hair. “You dare —“ was all she could apparently manage to say to Mr. Hart.

_Why was she so riled up?_ Jaime didn’t explain on the way back, enjoying teasing Brienne more than speaking of what she was about to walk into, so much so that for a while she wondered if Sansa really was in a row with Harry Hart at all.

But it seemed that Jaime wasn’t lying. 

Mr. Hart seemed unbothered about whatever Sansa was implying. “I only suggested that you take another, private lesson with myself. Lady Olenna approved of it before I even asked you.”

Sansa’s mouth opened and closed. “Am I that terrible of a dance partner that I need more lessons?” she asked.

Mr. Hart smiled. “I would never say such a thing to a lady.” He then bowed at Sansa and it was only Jaime’s stuttered laugh in reply to Mr. Hart’s antics that spurred Brienne to action.

“Miss Sansa,” Brienne said, feeling the need to cling onto formalities in front of Mr. Hart. “I need your help.”

Sansa looked at Brienne for a moment and smiled when she saw her. “Oh yes, you do need my help! _Don’t you?_ ” 

The way she said it made Brienne pause. Something was different. Something was strange. “Yes?”

Sansa spoke quickly. “Your dancing needs much more help than my own. You can join me at Mr. Hart’s dancing lessons. He is so generous, is he not?” Sansa’s grin had turned sly at the last moment and Brienne couldn't help but feel trapped. Still Brienne nodded in agreement and Sansa's grin only grew. 

Mr. Hart’s face revealed that he was in agreement with Brienne’s feelings, but, like her, he acquiesced to Sansa’s request. “Of course, Miss Knight. You are welcome to join the lessons. We shall do them straight after breakfast tomorrow, before Mr. Tyrell’s lessons.”

Jaime, who had been standing beside Brienne this whole time, spoke, “I suppose I will join as well. With a missing hand I am not the best dance partner, but I know learning from someone like you, Mr. Hart, I will soon be the belle of the ball.”

Mr. Hart looked unsure whether he should preen or glower so he did both. “Fine, Mr. Lyons. You shall be Miss Knight’s partner. And we shall speak of this to no one else.”

“Of course,” Jaime said, “Smaller parties are infinitely cozier.”

Brienne rolled her eyes at his comment until she caught Jaime's smile. _I'm glad he is coming along. At least then I won't have to third-wheel Mr. Hart’s awful attempts of wooing Sansa. At least then Jaime will be there to make fun of Mr. Hart’s terrible attempt._ That's the only reason he would join in on this. He hated Harry and loved making fun of him.

That was the _only_ reason.

It had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I was trying to finish up another story before I worked on this one again but that did not work out as planned. Also, lots of real life excuses again but I won't bore y'all with those. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and while the next two-three chapters may also be slow coming (hopefully not but life has not been great to me recently), after that, there's a bit more smooth sailing because the last chapters have all been at least 1/3 written and I know exactly what I want to do with them.  
> So I hope you enjoyed this! I know the JXB fandom has needed a boost recently so I hope this helped even a teensy bit. 
> 
> Also the darcy conversation was inspired by every darcy conversation i've ever had. I'm personally firmly in Sansa's camp, although I have to admit I do love the Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. I'm actually a bit surprised at how much that version grew on me. I almost included some Lizzie Bennet Diaries discussion but it didn't fit in the story. Sorry to Colin Firth fans though! I def. have many friends in that camp (and the original author of Austenland, Shannon Hale, is def. firmly in that camp) but I just don't see it. Personal taste I suppose!
> 
> Anyways, let's hope we keep getting good Mr. Darcy's so that the Great Mr. Darcy Debate never ends.


	19. Day Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has a headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this year has been awful in so many ways and one of them has been the lack of writing time/energy. But I made sure to get this out because maybe it'll cheer someone up.

**_Chapter Nineteen_ **

_ Rewind: Sansa's First Glass of Wine _

Her first glass of wine had been at a wedding, years before she turned the legal age of 21. “It’s all right, dear,” her mother said when Sansa was handed a glass. “One won’t hurt.”

She was right. It did not hurt.

It made her feel lighter than air and ten times more giggly than usual. Sansa twirled around the dance floor like a ballerina, ignoring the laughter that her dancing inspired. 

“What's the alcohol content in this, Edmure?” Sansa heard her mother ask, Catelyn’s entire face a frown.

Uncle Edmure shrugged with a sheepish grin. “I’d say about 16%.”

“EDMURE!”

* * *

**_ Sansa - Austenland Day 18 _ **

Sansa awoke with a blistering headache and wondered why. She drank no wine last night, unlike Walda who had three glasses of red. Why on earth was her head pounding?

Ugh, today was already looking utterly fantastic. And by fantastic, she meant absolutely dreadful.

Today she had to have a private dance lesson with Mr. Hart.

And now she had a painful throbbing going on in the back of her head.

Thank God that Brienne and Mr. Lyons were going to be there too. 

And then there would be more dancing later. More! 

She threw a pillow over her head and groaned. Sansa had just about enough of dancing.

Perhaps she could pretend to be ill? Or that her cut had somehow become infected?

No, that would worry everyone to an annoying degree and Brienne would probably freak out. Sometimes Sansa wished Brienne would stop acting like a nosy chaperone and instead act like a friend. Perhaps that was an uncharitable thought but seriously. Not every little thing needed to be reported to Catelyn Stark. 

A knock on her door disrupted her thoughts. “Miss Edwards are you presentable?” Miss Mordane’s voice called out from behind the door.

“NOPE!” Sansa yelled, scrambling out from under her covers to find a robe or a sweatshirt or yoga pants or or or something! “Give me a minute!”

“There is no rush, Miss Edwards,” Miss Mordane said. “I have just come to tell you that Mr. Hart expects you in the ballroom in an hour’s time. I have already alerted Mr. Lyons and Miss Knight to this. Will you need any help getting ready?”

Sansa looked over at herself. She looked ridiculous wearing a t-shirt that Theon gave her one Christmas that featured some character from a tv show she had never seen. Also, she somehow kicked off a sock in the middle of the night so now she was wearing only one fuzzy pink sock. “Probably,” she sighed. 

“How about I come back in ten minutes? Would that work?”

“Yes, thank you.”

And in ten minutes Miss Mordane came in to find Sansa mostly presentable. Except for the loose corset. “We need to teach you girls better ways to tighten these yourselves,” Miss Mordane clucked. 

“It’s a little hard from the back,” Sansa said. 

“Well, yes, I suppose that’s true. But you could make more of an effort!”

“Uh.” More of an effort? If Sansa tried more than she already did she was certain her arms would fall out of her sockets. She was already pretty sure she pulled a shoulder muscle. “Sure.”

“Your friend didn’t even try, when I went to help her. She’s a very sweet girl but was she raised by men?”

Sansa could barely breathe. Miss Mordane seemed to be tightening her corset much too hard. “Uh, actually yes, yes she was. Her mother died when she was little.”

Miss Mordane paused. “That explains a lot.”

“Could you, ah, loosen the corset?”

“Oh!” Miss Mordane seemed embarrassed. “Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry, dear.”

“It’s all right,” Sansa lied. 

“I just got so flustered, not even because of these corsets or your friend, but earlier… well I couldn’t- shouldn’t say.”

Drama alert! Sansa got excited. “No, what happened?”

Miss Mordane sighed. “Youth happened, I supposed. Be careful with it.”

That was annoyingly cryptic. “Did you see something? You know if you see something you should say something.”

“That applies to terror threats not to romantic dalliances.” 

“Dalliances?” Sansa’s imagination was running wild. “Who?”

Miss Mordane’s exasperation was clear. “I need a new job.”

* * *

Mr. Hart awaited her in the ballroom. He was alone in it and looked almost like a statue, his posture so perfect it would have made her mother weep. His gaze was sharper than any carved marble, however, and his golden locks flowed too effortlessly. “Good morning,” he said. “This is to be a short lesson.”

“Good morning,” Sansa greeted back. “And that sounds perfect.”

“Shall we get started or do you need your chaperone?” he asked with a hint of a smirk.

_Asshole._ “I’d rather wait for my chaperone,” Sansa sniffed, pressing her hands down on her legs. The silk 'practice' ballgown was soft underneath her palms. 

Mr. Hart watched her do this with a puzzled expression. “Why do you hate me?”

Sansa frowned. “I don’t hate you.”

“But—“

Brienne walked into the room before he could finish. “Hello,” she said, looking flushed. “I’m ready to learn.”

Mr. Hart grew haughty. “And you will learn. Where is your partner?”

“I don’t know,” Brienne said. “Why would I know?”

“You do seem to be attached at the hip.”

“Better than at the lips,” Brienne shot back before blanching. Sansa knew Brienne was referring to Mr. Hart kissing her at the theatrical and would have been annoyed if she wasn’t so proud of Brienne for her retort.

So instead she laughed and laughed. 

Brienne laughed too and so when Mr. Lyons came in, the whole ballroom was full of laughter as well as Mr. Hart’s silent fuming.

“What's this all about?” Mr. Lyons asked, bemused. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Brienne said quickly, her laughter ceasing at Mr. Lyons’ entrance. “Let’s just dance.”

The first dance lesson of the day was so short it was as if it hadn’t happened at all. The only thing of significant note that happened was that Brienne didn’t fall over on her own feet. “Good job,” Mr. Lyons congratulated Brienne. Brienne only nodded, not able to meet her partner’s eyes, which was surprising considering how much they spoke and laughed during their dance. 

Sansa wondered about this but had very little time to consider it when the rest of their party entered the ballroom. 

“What is this?” Mr. Stag asked with a laugh. “Starting without us?”

“In a sense,” Mr. Hart pouted.

“That is just fine,” Margaery said, although her eyes narrowed once she saw Brienne. “But I suppose Miss Knight must leave now.”

Brienne nodded. “I will see you later,” she said to Sansa before rushing out the door.

“Peculiar girl,” sniffed Loras Tyrell, who had entered as Brienne left. “Now please, set yourselves up. We have many dances to learn today.”

Sansa resisted sighing. She was already tired of dancing, something she’d never thought she’d be. But dancing in Austenland was so different than dancing in reality. Once she dreamed of these fabulous classy dances and now she dreamed of just jumping up and down like a lunatic on her bed with Jeyne and Arya at her side while some stupid song played on the radio.

“Miss Edwards?” Mr. Hart asked as he held out his hand.

She took it and the dance began.

“Why did you come to Austenland?” he asked after a few moment’s silence between them. If you counted listening to Loras Tyrell yell at Walda to stop scampering about and to actually try to dance.

“I love Jane Austen,” Sansa said, her head suddenly throbbing again. “Is there any other reason?”

“It’s more than that I suspect,” Mr. Hart said.

“Well,” Sansa started, embarrassed. “I always dreamed of being Lizzy Bennet.”

He laughed. “You wish to be Lizzy Bennet?”

“Does not every woman wish to be like Elizabeth Bennet?” Sansa asked, annoyed. 

It seemed that Margaery overheard her as they danced around in circles as the brunette began to speak loudly over the music and everyone else’s conversation. “I’ve always wished to be Mary Crawford, I know that is wicked of me but I cannot help it. She is so delightful a character and not truly wicked. Just misunderstood,” Margaery added with her own wicked grin.

Sansa was unsurprised by Margaery’s words. 

“I think Brienne’s like Lizzy Bennet,” Walda suddenly interjected. “From what I remember of the movie. Stubborn.”

Mr. Stag laughed and Sansa winced. “She has the right sort of eyes—“

“Miss Knight is no Lizzy Bennet,” Mr. Lyons interrupted whatever else Mr. Stag was about to say regarding Brienne’s looks. She was surprised by his interruption. It didn’t seem as if he was paying attention to their conversation at all. His gaze was at the door… almost as if he was expecting Brienne to run in and chastise him. Or perhaps he was hoping that she would, Sansa thought after spying a smile on his face. It was fleeting but it had been there. “She’s more like Fanny Price. Judgmental and brooding.” 

“Sounds more like she’s Mr. Darcy to me,” Mr. Hart said underneath his breath.

Sansa didn’t dignify Mr. Hart with a response. Although she did glare at Mr. Lyons. Wasn’t he supposed to be Brienne’s suitor?  Or was that Mr. Stag? Sansa was losing track of who belonged to who. “Miss Knight,” Sansa glared at Mr. Lyons, “is her own person. Although if I had to pick one character, I’d say Anne Elliot.”

Something in Mr. Lyons gaze shifted and he nodded. “I can see that.”

“As can I,” Margaery announced and then changed the subject. “Now, Miss Edwards, you must tell me how you pick such lovely dresses to wear.”

And with that careful redirection, the subject was finally closed. Although during the whole debacle, Sansa’s headache worsened to the point where she was having trouble paying attention to the steps. 

Mr. Tyrell tutted at her quite loudly. “What are you doing? Mr. Hart give her here, I must show her how to dance. Hold your head up, Miss Edwards-“

“I need water,” Sansa said, retreating from Loras’ arms. “Excuse me.” 

Ignoring whatever they were saying — if they said anything at all, her head hurt so badly it was hard to listen — she fled the room, looking for where Lady Olenna’s office might be. 

Perhaps she should have asked Margaery for help, but Sansa didn’t think of that until she had reached the office. 

Where Podrick stood, his hands clutching an envelope. He wore a simple brown shirt and pants that were neither brown nor gray, just dark. Around his waist was a utility belt of some kind, he oddly looked like both a handyman and a gentleman all at once. It made Sansa smile. “Hello,” Sansa said. He looked much taller inside. Or perhaps he was holding himself up straighter in preparation for Lady Olenna’s lecturing about posture. “Is she in?”

“I think so,” he replied, staring at the door. It was as if he didn’t dare to look at her. “I heard her on the phone.”

Sansa smiled. “I thought there were no phones in this house.”

“In case of fires,” Podrick said. 

“There is no fire here.”

“That we know of.”

Sansa laughed even though it hurt to do so. “I guess it could be a metaphorical one.”

He must have noticed that she was in pain because he turned to look at her with concern. “Are you all right? Is it the cut?”

“It’s not the cut, but no, I’m not feeling well. I came looking for Lady Olenna because my head is killing me.”

“Do you need ibuprofen?” Podrick asked. He started fidgeting with his utility belt, looking away from her face.

“Uh, probably.”

“I have some here,” he said. “After your cut I decided to keep more first aid items on me.”

She blinked at him and he blushed. “You never know when someone will need help,” he added, looking rather embarrassed. 

“That’s sweet,” Sansa said and he turned even redder. 

“Here’s some ibuprofen,” he said, handing her much more than she needed. His fingers grazed hers as he passed it over. 

They were soft, almost as soft as his lips. 

_Oh I wish I didn’t think of that. Now all I’m doing is staring at his lips! And blushing!_ She felt like an idiot. “I should go. Thanks again.”

“I’ll see you later?” he asked, almost sounding hopeful.

“Of course you will,” Sansa replied, smiling as wide as she could muster. She was rewarded with a shy, handsome smile from Podrick that made her heart whirl. 

And then she left him to look for a dang glass of water. Because her head was _still_ killing her and she needed to wash down this ibuprofen. 

* * *

Before she fell into her soft bed, exhausted from all the dancing, Sansa recalled Mr. Hart’s words. Perhaps she was too sensitive and soft to be Lizzy Bennet. Perhaps she was too ridiculous, the way her mother always said she was, although she said it with love ( _well, most of the time)_. Perhaps Arya would be a better Elizabeth Bennet than Sansa.

Perhaps she belonged here more than Sansa did. Although imagining Arya in a corset only made Sansa laugh. 

At least her headache was gone now, easing up after Podrick snuck her ibuprofen. She couldn’t believe he had managed to do it. 

He was so kind to her.

And handsome.

Fine, while she wasn’t in love with him, as she had previously assumed, she was as close to in love as she thought she could possibly be at this point in their friendship. The question was… did he like her too?

Smiling at the thought that he might, Sansa closed her eyes and tried to sleep. 

Voices beyond her room stopped any dreams of Podrick from entering her head. Feeling annoyed (Podrick’s lips could have been on hers in dreamland by now!), Sansa pushed herself out of bed, cursing the cold hardwood beams underneath her feet. “Whoever it is, would you shut up?” she mumbled pulling the door open to find…

Brienne.

And _Jaime_.

Very close together.

They hadn’t noticed her yet, too involved in their own conversation.

Or, well, Sansa would say conversation but they hadn’t said a word since she opened the door. Only stared into each other’s eyes with the kind of intensity that one only saw in a Jane Austen film adaption.

“Uh-um,” Sansa said without meaning to. And somehow that little utterance caught their attention when annoyed, half-asleep words did not. 

Brienne flinched when she saw Sansa, almost jumping out of Jaime's arms. Sansa hadn’t even noticed until then that Mr. Lyons had been clutching Brienne’s forearms. 

But she couldn’t pay attention to that for long because Jaime was sending her a glare so deadly it was a wonder she didn’t disintegrate on the spot. 

“I should go,” was all Brienne said before literally running away as if she was Cinderella at midnight. 

Actually, Sansa was pretty sure it was midnight so that was kind of a funny coincidence. She’d laugh if Jaime didn’t terrify her. “Uh, I should go too!” she announced, slamming the door behind her and locking it for good measure.

_Well… that was interesting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I know not very much of note happens this chapter which was one of my major struggles with it. A lot of this is stuff pushing us to the end as well as hints of what is to come. Next chapter (not even going to promise a date with it because apparently I'm the worst) has answers if that helps??
> 
> Also, the ball is COMING UP SOON!!! And I have that about 50% written which is actually a lot because those chapters are going to be super long. As are the chapters after the ball. I'm very excited for the end actually because I love the ending a lot. And I think you guys will too.  
> So thank you for sticking with me despite the extra long wait time for this rather short chapter. You guys are the best!!!


	20. Day Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise is in store for Brienne.

**Chapter Twenty**

_ Rewind: Brienne’s First Kiss. AJA _

She was 22 years old when _it_ happened.

And it was very disappointing. 

It shouldn’t have been disappointing at all. The setting was perfect — the sun was setting over her home island. Brienne was sinking her feet into the cold, wet sand and dashing away from the chasing waves, laughing all the while. He grabbed her and kissed her and… 

There was absolutely nothing at all.

Perhaps it was because everyone behind them was laughing and hooting. Perhaps it was because only five minutes later she saw one of her old high school classmates handing the guy a five dollar bill. Perhaps it was because after she punched him so hard that she had to be restrained by her own father from punching him again — who had come running down the dune near their house when he saw what happened. Perhaps it was the way he had tried grabbing her breast when they had been kissing. Perhaps it was because she had never wanted to be kissed by him at all.

Perhaps it was all of that, but, no matter what, it was a very disappointing first kiss. 

* * *

**_Brienne - Austenland Day 19_ **

Brienne wanted to erase yesterday from existence.

Jaime was just so awful to her. How could he be so kind one day and so terrible the next? And sometimes it wasn’t even days but moments — it was as if she was in Brontëland not Austenland! (And she detested the Brontës! Brooding men who treated women terribly? She never understood the appeal. Perhaps Darcy brooded but he also didn’t lock his first wife up in an attic!) 

What would Brontëland even look like? A land filled with moors and creepy men? 

Although to be fair to the Brontes, Austenland wasn’t quite as fun as Brienne imagined, back in the days where she would plaster the brochure on her desk in hope that one day she’d be able to go. She didn’t imagine she’d be excluded from half of the events, that...

Well, perhaps a gothic novel plot device or two would shake things up. Perhaps Jaime was the gothic novel plot device.

Although he looked much too golden to fit in at Brontëland. Although perhaps his heart fit in better there than in Austenland. 

Brienne knew better than to bring up the Brontës to Sansa. Sansa ADORED Jane Eyre.And Wuthering Heights. Brienne even suspected Sansa had read  The Tenant of Wildfell Hall , which, to be fair, always did sound better to Brienne than the other two.

Brienne had been subjected to more popular Brontë sisters in college when she was forced to choose between Victorian Literature and American Puritanical Literature. Victorian was closer to the Regency Era, Brienne thought, so it’d be fine.

And it mostly was. She was delighted by George Eliot and other more _realistic_ authors and it was only when the gothic novel was introduced that Brienne winced.

Gothic novels were silly, in her mind. The only foray in Gothicism that she enjoyed was Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey, mostly because it was poking fun at the genre, especially at ridiculous books like The Monk. While it had its moments of gothic whimsy, Brienne could ignore it in favor of the handsome and delightful Mr. Tilney as well as Austen’s amusing narrator.

Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights had none of that so she muddled her way through the readings, rolling her eyes in class when women spoke of how romantic Mr. Rochester was. She found that she was the only one who thought otherwise when she reminded the class that he had locked his first wife in an attic. She was greeted with a cold silence although one woman dared to say, “I thought you’d love Jane Eyre, Brienne!”

“Why?” Brienne had asked.

“Well,” the woman at least had the decency to blush as she explained that she believed that Brienne would identify with Jane… _due to her looks._

It was the only time in her life that Brienne left a class to go to the bathroom. 

Thinking of it now, as she was tightened into a corset by the unexpectedly strong Miss Mordane, Brienne wondered if that was really why she hated the Brontë sisters. 

* * *

Brienne quickly finished her breakfast before anyone arrived — even Lady Olenna had not yet arrived, which Brienne was grateful for. She was sure that Lady Olenna would somehow know of Jaime’s words and actions with one look at Brienne.

Jaime had come upon her so suddenly in the hall when she had been looking for Sansa last night. Brienne still wasn’t sure from which direction he appeared, the hall was too dark to see a thing. 

She supposed he was angry at her, but it was so hard to understand why and he etched closer and closer to her face. He was so goddamn confusing and infuriating and _beautiful._ He had accused her of avoiding him which she didn’t understand because she had just danced with him that day and she said that. Brienne wouldn’t have even noticed Sansa if she hadn’t made noise and it made her wonder what Jaime would have done as he held her. 

If this was Brontëland he would have kissed her wildly.

It was just as well that it wasn’t Brontëland. Austenland was much more sensible and reasonable.

Or at least it was supposed to be.

Brienne fiddled with the ribbon on her bonnet. Miss Mordane forced a bonnet into her hands this morning, noting that she had rarely seen Brienne wear one out of doors, entirely improper for a lady.

Brienne suspected the staff was in high Austen mode due to the upcoming ball. Or perhaps it was the lack of previous Regency Appropriate behavior in Austenland that caused Lady Olenna to address her staff at a meeting. Or something, Brienne thought, realizing she still understood so little of how this place worked despite being there for almost three weeks.

Sansa probably loitered in her bed still and Brienne was tempted to find her there, to speak with her, but then again…

_How to explain the scene from last night?_

In order to properly avoid Sansa before she awoke, Brienne decided to head towards the library again. Despite Sansa’s reputation as an avid reader, Brienne wasn’t entirely sure that Sansa had even visited the library at Highgarden yet, so it was the perfect hiding location.

At least she thought until she found Jaime inside.

Damn it, he was always here. Why was he here?

“Miss Knight,” he greeted, apparently attempting to be his character today. Brienne wasn’t sure if this was refreshing or annoying, especially since his smile was filled with mockery. “I see you’re up early.”

“It’s sad that nine in the morning is early at Highgarden, because normally I’d get a lot done by nine am,” she retorted.

Jaime’s smile only grew. Brienne began to regret speaking at all.

“I can’t wait to leave,” she muttered, half to herself.

“And do what?” Jaime asked her. 

An image of Big Ben popped into her head and she sighed. “Well, I wish I could go see the rest of Great Britain before I left. Go to the museums… see the artwork and the history, visit Bath and London and Edinburgh…”

His face grew quite serious. Serious enough that Brienne wondered if she was in trouble for speaking about leaving. “Do you really want to stay here another moment?” he asked her. “Or do you want to go to London?”

“Jane Austen hated town.”

He smiled. “You’re not Jane Austen, Miss Knight, or should I say, wench?” She frowned but he continued his lecture despite it. “And wouldn’t you rather go to the Imperial War Museum then sit around while all the other ladies learn how to play whist?”

She hated it but he was right. “I would,” she hedged, unwilling to be dishonest. “But —“

“You stay in England longer,” Jaime said, “Go see the world beyond Austenland. Eat curry bought from a food truck or whatever. Go to the museums you want to see, I know where the best ones are, I can get us there.”

“Us?”

“Did you think you were going to go without me?” 

He didn’t grab her hand, which she was thankful for, she was sure she’d do something ridiculous like tremble. “I’m going home soon. Maybe I’ll come back someday, but my flight is booked.”

“And you can’t postpone that flight?”

_Why is he asking me this? Why is he doing this?_ “I should get back to my room and change for dinner.” She tore away from his gaze and set her sights on the door, hoping he wouldn’t follow.

Of course… he did just that. “I’ll come with you!” he called out, his footsteps right behind hers.

“Why?” Brienne demanded, turning on him, not sure whether to be furious or charmed. His face was very close to hers now, close enough to see the wrinkles outlining his smirk. 

It was infuriatingly attractive. “Protection,” he replied.

“I don’t need protection!” 

“For me, I know Loras is out here somewhere hunting for me, your large frame will block his view of me nicely.” Jaime grabbed her shoulder with his good hand and ducked as if he was expecting Loras to be standing behind her.

She laughed despite the sting his words brought. “Jaime,” she said, once the laughter had ebbed. “Leave me be.”

His hand was still on her shoulder, large and warm on her skin. The cotton dress she wore was thin and she could feel almost every callus on his fingers. “I will see you at dinner then, Brienne,” Jaime said, his gaze fearsome and bewildering. Her stomach felt closer to her throat than it had moments ago and Brienne wondered if she was going to be able to eat at all. 

He did not let her go, though, despite his words, and she felt frozen and unable to move. It was just like the night before when they spent more time staring at each other than sparring with words. Brienne didn’t know what to do. In Jane Austen books, the heroine would blush or make a witty remark or do the right thing and leave right away, and, in the films, they would stare at each other’s lips longingly before making a cutting remark and leaving the other to stare at each other’s retreating figure in the rain. _I’ve watched the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice too many times,_ Brienne thought.

Jaime was the one to break the spell. “I should go help Loras, I’m sure he has his hands full planning out the ball.”

“I hope Lady Olenna pays him well,” Brienne said, thinking of how much work that would be.

Jaime laughed while walking away, calling out from behind him, “Loras is family! I doubt he gets much of anything out of this. Except the ability to see Renly looking like a dashing Austen hero.”

Brienne shook her head and left the library without a book in her hands.

Her shoulder still felt warm.

* * *

Dinner was a lively affair. It almost felt as if the house was full of guests, rather than just the three — herself, Sansa, and Walda. Brienne wasn’t entirely sure she enjoyed the surplus of noise that littered the air, but at least Sansa was laughing at Mr. Hart rather than two seconds away from tackling him. (Once Brienne saw Sansa jump on top of some girl that had been making fun of Arya at one of Arya’s concerts, so those who only thought Arya was the only tough Stark girl were sorely mistaken.)

While the rest of the party spoke loudly and enthusiastically over the adventures they had in their lessons today, Brienne sat quietly and met Jaime’s emerald eyes. He sat across from her and his smile was haughty. _He always knows what I’m thinking. I hate it._

Margaery was in the middle of a story about a lady she once knew — whether it was a real or pretend story, Brienne wasn’t sure and she couldn’t muster the will to laugh at the right parts. It was hard to pay attention when Jaime’s gaze was directed at her.

No one seemed to have noticed that Brienne was quiet, not even Lady Olenna, who had left dinner early to take care of something in the ballroom. Brienne wondered how it looked now, so close to the day of the ball (only two more days, Renly reminded them at the beginning of dinner), and tried to wander into the ballroom in the early afternoon but was chased off by a servant she didn’t recognize before she could even step one foot inside. 

Brienne wasn’t sure where the dance practices were held now that the ballroom was unusable but it didn’t really matter since she couldn’t go to the one today. The only one she could attend was the last one tomorrow. She hoped that Renly would be her partner next time, dancing with Jaime was too distracting to the point where footwork was entirely messed up.

Jaime’s footwork was always perfect.

At last, there seemed an appropriate time to excuse herself from dinner. She was tired, being up much earlier than the rest of them (it seemed everyone got up after 11 am today which seemed ridiculously late to Brienne), but she didn’t yet want to go to sleep. 

Instead, she loitered in the library, grateful she could finally take the time to find a book without Jaime hovering over her shoulders.

Or placing his warm hand on her shoulder. 

Brienne touched her collarbone where his palm had laid and shivered. _I’m being ridiculous_ , she thought, shaking her head and moving her fingers off her collarbone and onto a book.

The book she grabbed without really looking was The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. Brienne almost laughed but was too disgruntled by the random selection to do that. Then again, she had never read it before…

With a very heavy sigh, Brienne sank into the armchair in the corner of the room and read.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she heard the clattering of the door being open. 

_Jaime,_ she thought.

Removing herself from her seat to lecture him, she was surprised when she heard voices very different than his. She couldn’t see them, the bookshelves were arranged in a way that it was hard to see anything near the entrance from her location, but she knew who it was at once.

Margaery and Walda.

“Yes, yes,” Margaery was saying, “Kiss me there, oh god, yes!”

Was it Brienne’s destiny to walk in on Tyrells having sex? Brienne coughed, very very loudly before walking to the door. 

Walda and Margaery apparently had not heard because they were wrapped around each other tighter than any fishing knot, their lips entangled in some kind of war Brienne didn’t understand. They still didn’t notice Brienne, despite the fact Brienne’s eyeballs were popping out of her head.

_This explained so much_ , Brienne thought, before coughing again. Much louder this time.

Margaery turned her head and saw her and just grinned. “Uh, sorry, Brienne.”

Walda cocked her head and grinned as well. “Didn’t know you were in here!” she laughed. “This is almost as bad as when that maid found us.”

“Yes, we did surprise Miss Mordane a tad,” Margaery said with a wicked smile. 

Brienne felt very sorry for Miss Mordane. “I’m going to go now,” she said as fast as possible, trying to move past them to reach the door.

Walda and Margaery just giggled as Brienne shimmied past them, feeling absolutely ridiculous. Everything was so Regency Inappropriate that it made her head spin. 

She should have just left and rented a car after the first week. She should have gone to see the Imperial War Museum and the Tower of London and the waters at Bath and everything else she wanted to see. Jaime was right. 

But she couldn’t stay on vacation forever. She had to go back to work soon and face reality. Next time, she’d see everything she wanted to see. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it! Just one more chapter until the ball!


	21. Day Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's haunted by ghosts. Or, rather, just one ghost.

**Chapter Twenty-One**

_ Rewind: Sansa’s Very Bad Night Out _

The first time Sansa snuck out was also the last time. She originally blamed Arya for the ordeal entirely, ignoring the fact that Jeyne had been the one who arranged the whole thing. It was much easier to be mad at a sister than a friend.

Sansa had been lured to the party by the talk of older men ( _College boys!_ Jeyne had said, her face bright with excitement as they stretched during gym class) and great memories. Possibly also great drinks too but she had a feeling Gendry, who was their getaway driver, would glower if they dared to grab a red solo cup. He was surprisingly a goody-two-shoes, Arya’s… _whatever he was_ (to this day, Sansa did not know and did not dare ask), although he explained it as common sense.

Sansa was almost grateful for his common sense when Arya tackled the boy Jeyne was making out with half-heartedly. It would have been an all-out brawl if Gendry hadn’t grabbed Jeyne and Arya by the scruff of their collars and threw them into the car, barking at Sansa to follow.

“He was trying to get her drunk! He might’ve even put something in her drink!” Arya told Sansa later after they had finished screaming at each other. They were very, very lucky that their parents were at some business thing and had taken their younger brothers with them. Robb was at college (a different one, a more prestigious one, than the one their party had taken place at) so they were as loud as they pleased. 

“So!” Sansa shouted at Arya, still burning from missed opportunities. “Maybe she wanted to get drunk!” Arya slammed the door then and locked herself in her own room. Sansa, unfortunately, was locked away with her own thoughts. Although she knew even that night that Arya was right, that the boy had been trying to hurt Jeyne, it took Sansa nearly six months to apologize to Arya. 

While it was easier to be mad at a sister than a friend, it was even harder being mad at some phantom of a boy who could have desperately injured her best friend. That people could be so cruel and evil was a lesson Sansa still didn’t quite understand. 

* * *

 

**_ Sansa - Austenland Day  _ ** **_20_ **

The morning sun came and left Sansa’s window — by the time she truly awoke, the sun was high in the sky. It was noon, the clock beside her bed informed her with a swing of its hands. Sansa was half-annoyed at herself for sleeping in so late on one of her last days in Austenland and half-overjoyed. She had stayed up quite a while last night and was quite exhausted from it so it was very, very nice to sleep in.

Perhaps she could have blamed someone else for this foolhardy decision. Margaery came to mind most easily, but, truly, it was Podrick’s fault most of all. After all, he was the one who told her about the ghost. Margaery just encouraged the idea when they spoke after dinner, although they couldn’t speak long — Walda had been pressuring Margaery to go to the library to show her some book.

The ghost, whose name was never spoken of in these explanations, liked to haunt the gardens of Highgarden. It was a gardener in its past life, Margaery had told her when Sansa asked for more details, too curious about what Podrick had mentioned.

“You’ve seen this ghost?” she had asked him, delighted by the idea of the place being haunted. _Why wasn’t this on the pamphlet? People loved ghosts!_ “What did it look like?”

Pod, as he always did, blushed and stammered his way through an explanation, although that may have been because she had been literally cornering him. She had found him in the garden, which she had decided to explore again out of boredom. Well, that and she really wanted to see if she could find Pod again. She had to leave him quickly though as there was a game of whist that she was being forced to learn and so never heard too much about the ghost from Podrick. Well, other than the fact it existed at all.

Margaery had been more helpful about the ghost. “A gardener who fell in love,” Margaery sighed, as Walda pulled on Margaery’s arm. Margaery casually brushed off Walda like one brushed off a gnat. “Died of a broken heart according to the family legend.”

“It’d be better if the gardener died from dragon flame,” Walda interrupted. “Much more interesting.”

Margaery had laughed — it was bright and lilting all at once. “But much more unlikely.”

Sansa agreed and decided then, as Walda pulled Margaery away from the conversation, that she would spend all night staring at her window to see if she could spy this ghost. She doubted she’d find anything, but it’d be a nice distraction from her normal night dreams of kissing Podrick. By the way Podrick still spoke to her like she was a guest rather than his friend, she sensed a ghost appearing was more likely than a kiss at this point. 

She tried not to feel too disappointed about this but at one point during the night, as she stared at the window mournfully, she burst into tears. _I’m the gardener-ghost. Alone and heartbroken over a stupid boy who I barely know. Just like usual. Arya would be so mad at me — Mother would be madder. Stupid Sansa._

But now that she had awoken, Sansa laughed, wiping off the dried tears that lingered on her face. She was stupid for being that upset over nothing. And Podrick didn’t treat her like a guest! He actually spoke to her, quite often. And while she had cornered him, he was the one who sought her out yesterday. He told her so himself when he found her in the garden! He looked for her, well, because he liked her! And she was the one that was forced to leave him yesterday. It wasn't the other way around!

Why did the night sky bring out her worst dreams and thoughts? 

Perhaps the ghost didn’t haunt the gardens that night, perhaps it lingered in her mind instead, bringing up

Shaking herself off, she called for Miss Mordane to help herself get ready for the last of the dance lessons with Mr. Loras Tyrell.

Thank God.

* * *

“Ladies,” Loras greeted them as they entered a small side-room, as the ballroom was still occupied by servants cleaning it up for tomorrow night. Loras looked as if someone left something rancid under his nose. Sansa wondered if it was the mustache he was attempting to grow that stunk so badly and had to fake a cough to hide her laugh. “It is time you demonstrated what you have learned with me.”

Sansa was disappointed to see that Brienne already looked terribly nervous about the dancing. _It wasn’t fair_ , she thought. Brienne would be much better at this than everyone if she had been taught more. She was so quick and athletic, it made sense she’d be an excellent dancer. Instead, she’d be the worst. 

All because of Brienne’s stupid pride in refusing any more monetary help! 

Sansa sighed internally as Mr. Hart bowed in front of her. The music — which was coming out of the iPhone perched in Loras’ shirt pocket — flowed before them. “My lady,” Mr. Hart said with one of his smiles.

For some reason, Sansa didn’t hate it as much. Perhaps because it seemed like it was mocking Loras for once instead of herself or Brienne. ( _Or even Walda._ ) “My lord,” she curtsied back with a smile.

Mr. Lyons was partnered with Walda beside her. Sansa wondered if Brienne was disappointed but then saw her dancing with Mr. Stag. As they all went through the circling motions, twisting and turning around the other couple in a square-dance-like fashion, Sansa was almost sure she heard Mr. Lyons speaking about some TV show to Walda, although it was too difficult to hear over the music.

Plus, Mr. Hart was saying something to her now. “Miss Edwards, are you listening?” he asked.

“Yes,” she lied, too tired for the truth. 

“Then what did I say?”

“Are you actually testing me?” Sansa laughed and was by the grace of God or some other deity separated from him by the natural twist and turn of the dance. It took almost another full minute before they were reunited. 

He didn’t seem like he wanted to continue whatever conversation they had been having, too busy glowering. 

Sansa felt victorious. 

* * *

Sansa left the ballroom eagerly as soon as she could. Still wearing her ugly practice ballgown that Miss Mordane had fitted her into earlier she fled the mansion looking for Podrick, hoping to see him in the gardens. If she couldn’t…. couldn’t have- _have_ him, then she at least wanted to spend as much time with him as she could.

Without getting him in any more trouble.

Or awkwardley cornerning him.

But instead of Podrick, Sansa found Brienne, sitting on a stone bench. “Oh, hello!” Sansa said, surprised, but glad. _How did she beat me out the door?_ “What are you doing out here?”

“I wanted to be outside,” Brienne said, clutching a book in her hands. It was _Pride and Prejudice._ It didn’t look like Brienne had gotten very far.

Sansa grinned. “Getting some reading in?”

“I was trying to but it’s hard now. Knowing what it was like. How dull it was for Lizzie and Jane.”

“You knew that before,” Sansa pointed out, moving to sit next to Brienne. _Brienne knew everything._

“I guess experiencing how long and empty the days were… means something more than solely knowing it.”

“Well,” Sansa said, “they also had more people to see and more places to visit. We’d be visiting the town or organizing charity drives or something if this really was 1812. And we’d actually know how to knit, probably.”

Brienne grimaced. “None of that sounds appealing.”

“What did appeal to you about Jane Austen?” Sansa asked, moving to sit next to her friend. “I don’t think we ever talked about why we liked her books so much, just that we did love her and her books.”

“She understood people,” Brienne said quickly. “I don't think people have changed as much as we believe, really. Circumstances change, laws change, cultures change, but people don’t? Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Sansa said. “And you liked being able to understand people?”

A flittering smile appeared on Brienne’s face but she didn’t answer.

Sansa was about to ask again when Brienne said something peculiar, “We never think we’re not the hero, that we’re the servant or the random person in the background.” Brienne paused so long that Sansa almost started to respond. She was very glad she didn’t when Brienne said, “And I think Jane Austen taught me that. Even before Austenland. All those women in her books — all those _men_ , the villains never learned to think outside themselves and their points of views, but the heroes _did_. Emma learned about Harriet and Miss Bates. Lizzie understood Darcy and Darcy worked hard to show he was worth understanding. Captain Wentworth fell in love with Anne all over again once he comprehended her.” Brienne sighed. “That’s what I love about the books and about Jane Austen. And it’s also why I hate it here. It’s…stagnant.”

“I don’t know if I’d agree,” Sansa heard herself saying. She thought of Podrick. “I feel very different.”

Brienne looked thoughtful, her mouth agape. “Well,” she said, almost in hushed tones. “I guess I do feel a bit different. Although that may have been because, uh, well.” It was silent for a moment, Brienne obviously finding it difficult to speak about her feelings. _Please say Mr. Lyons_ , _please say Jaime,_ Sansa pleaded inwardly. Sansa desperately wanted to talk about that moment outside her door but knew better than to bring it up to Brienne.

Brienne said nothing about Jaime, however. “Margaery and Walda were making out in the library!” Brienne blurted instead.

Sansa stared. That had not been what she had been expecting. “WHAT?”

“I know.”

“WHAT?”

“I know!”

“WHAT THE HELL - WAIT WHAT! This is freaking HUGE!”

“I KNOW!”

Sansa had to know everything. “ARE THEY IN LOVE?”

Brienne’s blue eyes were wide and stunned, almost as if she was seeing the two women tangled up with one another again, almost as if was Margaery was sucking on Walda’s neck right in front of them on the garden floor. “I have no idea. Maybe?”

“This is so great!!” Sansa said, all of her ideas about pestering Brienne about Jaime disappearing. “We’ll be invited to the wedding definitely!”

“Uh, how are you so sure they’ll get married?”

“Because this is Austenland!”

“That literally means nothing.” Brienne’s entire face was a frown. It almost reminded Sansa of her mother. 

“Oh god, I need to ask them all about it.”

Brienne covered her face with her hands. “What did I unleash?”

Sansa laughed and hugged Brienne’s shoulders. “I’m mostly kidding, I won’t ask or say anything. Especially if it’s supposed to be a secret, which I’m assuming it was since no one knew anything about it.”

Brienne’s shoulders, which had been tense in Sansa’s arms, sagged with something like relief. “Probably.”

Sansa let Brienne go. “Thanks for telling me, though. This is amazing gossip.”

“I couldn’t hold it in any longer,” Brienne said, her cheeks red. “It was so hard not to go find you last night.”

“You should’ve,” Sansa said, laughing at the image of Brienne bursting through the door with that kind of news. “It would have livened up my evening quite a bit.” _Quite literally since I was looking for ghosts._

“Next time,” Brienne promised, looking almost weary from the secret she had been keeping, holding onto _Pride and Prejudice_ with a loving grasp. “But for now…” She stopped and frowned.

“What’s up?”

“I hear hedge clippers. I hope no one overheard our conversation,” Brienne looked upset.

“It’s probably Podrick and he would never do that.”

Brienne paled. “But what if it’s Hyle?”

“Would he do something that mean and petty?” Sansa joined Brienne’s frowning. “I thought you liked him.”

“I guess I do.”

“Hm. Who would he even tell? And would that person even care?”

Brienne shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I,” Sansa got up and brushed herself off, “will find out.” She almost felt delighted by the thought. If it was Podrick clipping hedges then she’d be able to talk to him and if it was Hyle she’d be able to yell at him for kissing Brienne. Either way it worked for her.

Brienne looked at Sansa peculiarly, as if she could see Sansa’s thoughts dancing in her head, but, surprisingly, didn’t argue, only getting up to brush herself off. While Brienne headed to the house, Sansa sought out the mysterious hedge clipper.

Who turned out to be the _not so mysterious_ Podrick who was wearing a ridiculous hat. It had a floral theme to it — it looked like something Sansa’s mother would wear but she somehow still found it charming on Pod.

Sansa was surprised by the relief she felt. “Hi,” she said to him. 

“Hi,” he said back, almost dropping the clippers on his foot as he did so. 

He looked almost as nervous as yesterday when he told her about the ghost. “You’re clipping hedges again?” she asked.

“This is the one that hurt you,” he explained. He held the hedge clippers tightly and under his hat, she saw that his eyes were bright. “We couldn’t have that happen to any of the guests.”

She smiled at him, her heart tight. _Any of the guests or just me,_ she wanted to know desperately but knew better than to ask. “Of course.”

“Did you ask Lady Margaery about the ghost?”

“I did but she was in a hurry to, uh,” Sansa blushed, now knowing the true reason of Margaery and Walda’s disappearance,“go to the library?”

Podrick blushed too, proving that he must have overheard hers and Brienne’s conversation. “Uh, um, right.”

“Can you tell me more? Now that you aren’t as busy as yesterday?”

“I don’t know anything really,” he said. “Only what I was told during my training. He haunts the garden maze because it used to be a graveyard… supposedly.”

Sansa crinkled her nose. “That’s not a great thought.”

“He died longing for his love, supposedly.” Podrick swallowed and looked away. “I didn’t really understand how you can die of that.”

“It happens,” Sansa said, remembering stories her father told her of elderly patients losing the will to live after their spouse dies. She suspected her parents would be like that when the time came. The thought made her sad and perhaps it showed in her face for Pod looked concerned.

“Are you all right?” Pod asked, coming closer. 

His gardening gloves were off for some reason, Sansa didn’t know why, but she didn’t mind it when he carefully, _hesitatingly_ , took her hand. “I am now,” she said, looking up into his eyes.

They didn’t kiss, which might’ve disappointed her once, but she was older now than she was two or three weeks ago, _as silly and ridiculous as that sounded_ , but she felt like she had aged so much in that time. Pod holding her hand was enough for her and looking into his warm eyes was even better. _They had time to kiss_ , she thought, finally letting go of his hand with a smile, hoping that she proved she loved him. A kiss for him right now would be a kiss of death for his job, his prospects, any references he needed to get out of this place.

She could find him after this mess. She could kiss him then.

Only one more day of Austenland left after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! :) I'm almost completely done with writing the whole thing, just bits and pieces left.
> 
> Also, related note, a good friend of mine on here has written her own au of Austenland, featuring different ships than this one, but trust me it's very good and very hilarious. She's helped me a lot with this story and I hope I've helped her a little with hers! It'll be under merrymegtargaryen if you want to give it a try. It's Jon/Sansa and Jeyne/Theon with some Sam/Gilly thrown in too! 
> 
> Anyways, soon this story will be done! And I really hope you guys like the ending. I still have some surprises left. :)


	22. Day Twenty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne attends the ball.

_ “He took her hand and looked at it a moment, then he turned it over. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed her palm.”  _

Austenland, Shannon Hale 

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_Rewind: Brienne's Prom, AJA_

Her junior prom was a disaster. At first, Brienne didn’t think it would be that bad. She thought she could go with the group of friends she attached herself with at lunch. Not that any of them were really close friends, but they were all outliers, all strange to the others, and so sat together so they wouldn’t be completely isolated from the rest of humanity.

So when it was suggested they rent a limo together, Brienne didn’t think it was the worst idea in the world. 

But it was. Oh… _but it was._

Everyone fought, everyone cried, everyone drank, everyone had sex but her.

She sat there, stoic, as her supposed friends called her ugly, terrible names to her face, as they made jokes about why she wasn’t getting laid or asked to dance. Brienne suffered this the whole night, not wanting to alert her father to her pain (he worried over her enough as it was), even going to the after-party the school sponsored at a local recreation center. She even attended the after-after party at some girl’s house (which the school definitely did not sponsor) trying to keep it together. It was only when she reached her bed, that she truly realized how miserable she was.

And then she remembered she still had to deal with her supposed friends for another whole year. 

This is why her father found her the next morning in the garage, her eyes bloodshot from staying up all night, hitting the punching bag with both her fists and both of her feet. 

“At least those kickboxing lessons aren’t going to waste,” was all he said, before leaving her alone in her misery.  

* * *

**_Brienne - Austenland D ay 21 _ **

The light flickered from the window. The rays were bright and much too cheery for a morning sun. Brienne couldn’t help but wince when it struck her eyelids. _Why was it so damn bright?_

“Get up, get up,” Miss Mordane said as she came in. “I can’t believe you’re still asleep! It is nearly noon and the ball stars in seven hours!”

_That explained the sun’s cheeriness._

Brienne scrambled out of bed. “It’s noon?” she asked, horrified. Her interrupted midnight talk with Jaime affected her sleeping schedule more than it should have. She dreamed of that other night still — it was hard to sleep when memories of his face trounced her vision. She could only think of Jaime and how close he had been to her face.

How close he had been to kissing her.

Him. The most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Miss Mordane was now raising an eyebrow at how Brienne was only half-undressed. She had been so tired the night before and so dreading today — the ball, that she had only managed to get everything but the underclothes off. Another brow was raised at Brienne’s hair, which, Brienne realized as she tried to brush it out with her hand, was a complete and utter knotted mess. “We will need to start preparing immediately. You should go take a bath.” Brienne stood there until Miss Mordane’s expression firmed. “Now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Brienne said, quite embarrassed. 

* * *

The sky looked like it had been painted with vanilla icing. Clouds were smeared over what Brienne hoped was an endless blue sky but it was impossible to tell what color it was behind the white puffs. Brienne could see it reflected from the mirror as Pia and Miss Mordane tightened her corset. She could also see her bare expression, wincing in the mirror as they did it, as well as her hand gripping the desk tighter than any sailor’s knot.

But, still, the sky gave her a strange hope, that tonight would go well. It would be a good night. _Or, at least,_ Brienne grimaced, _the dress will be nice._

“There!” Pia, the seamstress announced, releasing Brienne. Miss Mordane, quite red-faced, followed the younger girl’s example, wiping her brow with a kerchief. “You are going to have a stupendous figure now.”

Brienne doubted it but said nothing, just grateful she could still breathe in the stupid corset.

“Now,” Miss Mordane said when she caught her own breath. “The dress.”

Brienne turned away from her reflection in the mirror, not eager to see the hope in her eyes. “The dress?” she asked, realizing now that she had yet to see it.

Pia smiled then turned away heading towards a trunk she brought with her. “I think you’ll like this one, Miss Knight.”

Miss Mordane went over to help Pia and together they carried over the most beautiful dress Brienne had ever seen. It was made up of satin and the loveliest shade of blue Brienne had seen. It had little extra ornamentation but the plainness of it made it stunning rather than indifferent.

“I have never been fond of dresses,” Brienne said, “but this dress is-“

“Say no more,” Pia said, her smile growing. “And let us help you in it before you announce it as the most perfect dress of all creation.”

“You need to learn humbleness,” Miss Mordane said to Pia while helping Brienne step into the blue satin dress.

_But she didn’t_ , Brienne thought, upon seeing the finished version of herself. Pia had made Brienne someone almost pretty, like Catherine Morland. Tears welled up in Brienne’s eyes and she hid her face from the mirror.

“Don’t you like it?” Pia asked.

_How could she ask that,_  Brienne wondered, borrowing the kerchief from Miss Mordane to wipe away her tears. The dress was loveliness itself - so beautiful that even Emma Woodhouse would look at it with envy. “I love it.”

“Good,” Pia said, gently pulling Brienne away from the mirror. It was the first time Brienne dreaded being away from a mirror.“You have about another half hour before the ball so that means it’s time to fix up your hair.”

* * *

“Dancing is an emblem of marriage,” Margaery said to Brienne as they descended down the stairs. Brienne frowned at the misquote and the lack of attribution to Mr. Tilney, but Margaery continued, unawares. “So I would not be too surprised if you all ended up engaged tonight.”

“Too true!” Walda giggled, two steps behind Margaery. Her dress was white linen and much more Regency Appropriate than Brienne’s dress, yet Brienne didn’t care at all about that. She felt comfortable in this dress. She felt like Elizabeth Bennet, powerful and witty and self-assured, things she had never felt like before except on the fencing stage. 

“Dancing is, after all,” Margaery continued, her gloved hand dancing on the rail, “almost a trial marriage. Your partner will know your faults and you will know his.”

“By faults you mean poor dancing?” Sansa asked. She was right behind Brienne, next to Walda. “I could deal with that fault.”

“But poor dancing is an indication of rude manners.”

“Or a lack of instruction,” Brienne muttered.

Margaery’s hand stopped dancing on the rail. “True,” she allowed.

“There is quite a lot of noise,” Walda said, peering downstairs. “How many people are here?”

“My friends from ton, the neighboring homes, everyone who could come!” Margaery replied, her mask as Miss Tyrell firmly in place. 

“Ton?” 

“London,” Sansa explained, sighing. 

It was another minute of this useless conversation before they reached the bottom of the stairs, where they were all greeted with the sights and sounds of a true Regency ball. Brienne was astounded at how real it all looked. It was as if they were in a film adaption. 

“This is amazing,” Brienne heard herself saying.

Margaery’s smile was smug as she grabbed Walda’s hand and dragged the other woman away. “I know,” she called out with a wave goodbye, heading directly for her brother and…

_… Jaime._

Brienne looked away from that direction immediately and instead found herself being greeted by Mr. Hart. “Miss Knight, Miss Edwards,” he greeted with a bow, looking very handsome and gallant in his Regency ball regalia. “You ladies look lovely and so I must ask you both to dance with me this evening, although,” he added with a predatory smile at Sansa, “I fear I must ask you to dance with me only twice for thrice is not allowed.”

Sansa turned scarlet. “I’ll allow it,” she said and Mr. Hart stepped back. “Good, I shall call on you soon enough,” he winked and then strutted away from them. 

Sansa shook her head. “Where in the world was that Mr. Hart this whole vacation? I would have definitely been interested in him!”

Brienne glanced over at Sansa. Her younger friend looked stunning in her lilac gown. “Perhaps he was on holiday.”

Sansa threw back her head and laughed, looping her arm with Brienne’s. “Perhaps.”

They walked to the ballroom arm in arm, marveling at the amount of people Lady Olenna had managed to con into coming. “I suppose this is where all our money from the vacation goes to?” Sansa said, marveling over the costumes. “I mean they’re just extras and yet—“

“They look like the real thing.”

“Maybe we are the real thing,” a voice said and Brienne was surprised to see Hyle, looking almost as good as every other man there in his fitted coat.

“Hello?” Sansa said quirking an eyebrow at him. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced?”

“We have not,” he said, throwing her an easy smile. “But I’m sure your friend, Miss Knight, can do that.”

Brienne muttered and fumbled her way through introduction but Sansa looked at him with clear eyes once she realized that this was Hyle. _Oh please don’t kill him_ , Brienne thought, as Sansa smiled. “Hyle? Does that first name have a last name?”

“Hunt,” he replied. “Mr. Hunt is what I’m assuming you’d like to call me.”

“It’s much more proper,” Sansa agreed, her eyes flashing.

Hyle didn’t falter and kept smiling at Brienne. “I was hoping to ask Miss Knight for a dance.”

“You were?” Brienne asked, confused. 

Sansa’s eyes were narrowed. “Why?”

“She is a dear friend, of course.”

Sansa opened her mouth to respond but was called off the attack by Lady Olenna. “Good, you’re all here,” Lady Olenna sniffed. “How do you like the ball, ladies?” 

“It is beautiful,” Brienne said. 

Lady Olenna revealed a smile. “Good, now, go dance or something. That is the point, I’ve heard, of balls.” She stopped and looked around the room. “Ah, my grandson, Mr. Tyrell is over there, Miss Edwards, please accompany me and dance with him. I know he can be a sullen boy but he is quite a delightful dancer.”

Sansa agreed with some hesitation but soon she left Brienne alone with Hyle, whose eyes were kinder than she remembered. 

“Um, so I’m going to go—“

“Please dance with me,” Hyle said, looking up at her. “Just one dance.”

“You say one dance as if they didn’t last twenty or thirty minutes,” Brienne retorted.

Hyle smiled. “Please, Brienne. For your own sake, remember if you turn down my offer, you must turn down all other offers for a dance,” Hyle said, his voice teasing. 

Brienne knew he was right and hated him for hit a bit. Still, he was correct about that tidbit. “All right,” she agreed, cautious. “I will dance with you.”

“The first and last dance, please.”

“You said one dance!”

“Please?” Hyle asked, again. “It’s the last night you’ll be here.”

Brienne bit her lip, annoyed. “Fine.”

Hyle grinned and led her to the ballroom with everyone else. Brienne’s towering height allowed her to see that the music was played by a live band of sorts and that Margaery was about to lead the first dance. 

“Shall we?” Hyle asked, still holding her arm and Brienne, without hesitation, agreed.

* * *

The hardest part of dancing was not avoiding hitting other people as they twirled around each other with a lack of care and an abundance of laughter. The hardest part was avoiding Jaime’s gaze because every time Brienne felt it on her back, she would stumble into another dancer, apologetic and red-faced, remembering Margaery’s words on the stair. This ball was supposed to be elegant and clean — like the one at Netherfield, and Brienne was terribly afraid that she was making it more like the Meryton ball.

She escaped the ballroom after her dance with Mr. Tyrell, simultaneously embarrassed and aggravated at his glowering. He knew she had very little lessons compared to the rest! He shouldn’t be so ill-mannered about it.

The hallway was quiet in a way that felt familiar and safe. It echoed with the din of the party and that calmed Brienne’s nerves. She rested against a marble pillar and closed her eyes, imagining that Mr. Darcy was about to ask her to dance.

When she opened them, Jaime was there instead. 

She nearly jumped a foot and he laughed. “What are you doing?” he asked, leaning over her.

“Taking a break,” she said, trying to ignore how close he was. “I’m not doing a very good job dancing so I thought I should rest.”

Jaime grinned. “You are quite terrible.”

“I haven’t even seen you out there,” Brienne said, her forgotten aggravation coming back to haunt her. 

“I’m dancing near the end,” Jaime responded. “I’m already on Miss Tyrell’s and Miss Grey's list.”

“Miss Grey?”

“Walda.” Jaime laughed. “I can’t believe you of all people forgot her pretend name.”

Brienne looked away. She was tired of the farce. 

“I was,” Jaime coughed, “also hoping to ask you to dance.”

Brienne looked back at him and was surprised by the sincerity in his eyes. “All right,” she agreed, almost afraid. “I will dance with you.”

“How about the next dance and the very last dance?”

Brienne shook her head. “The last dance is promised to Hyle.”

Something in Jaime changed. “I see.”

Brienne wasn’t sure what to say so was grateful when Jaime continued to speak. “Then I will take the dance following the next one. You will have me for the next two dances… unless you’re already promised to someone else for those?” His smile was awful and Brienne almost regretted agreeing.

But agree she did. And if she thought it had been hard to dance when Jaime’s gaze happened to find her back, it was much harder to dance as he stared straight into her eyes, their gloved hands touching one another.

“This is when we speak, Mr. Darcy,” he said after about five minutes of silence between the two of them. 

She couldn’t respond at that moment, as she had to spin around Sansa, so she threw him an irritated glare instead. When they were closer together again, she spoke. “I have nothing to say right now.”

“Nothing?” Jaime’s voice was laced with amusement. “You’re to leave tomorrow and you can say nothing. The ballroom is filled with laughter and amusement and you can say nothing.”

Brienne, internally, found he had a point. “It is a lovely ball,” she ventured.

“Made infinitely lovelier by you,” Jaime said, almost purring. Brienne desperately hoped no one else near them heard that and tried not to flush.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

“You do look very nice,” he said. “Blue suits you, my lady.”

Brienne found that, once again, she could not speak.

* * *

When Hyle found her for the last dance, Brienne was starting to feel dizzy. She decided to blame the champagne Sansa had brought her, instead of the looks Jaime would throw her from time to time. The last dance with Jaime had been nicer than the first, more or less because it was faster and much harder to have a conversation with him.

Jaime had disappeared during the most recent dance though and Brienne tried not to wonder why, or with who, as Hyle claimed her hand. “This will be nice,” Hyle said.

Brienne tried to agree although her head was swimming. Hyle was saying a lot during this dance and she decided to try and not listen. If she listened, she’d mess up the actual dance, she knew. This was one that she was not as familiar with so had to pay attention. Especially since she was now officially tipsy for the fourth time in her life.

It was only when Hyle said, “Brienne, I think we should leave this party and head to a real one,” that she realized she should have been paying attention.

“What?” she sputtered, stopping in her tracks for a moment. She started moving again when Hyle reached for her hand eager to get away. “Why would you think I’d want to do that?”

“I thought we were having fun,” he said, sounding hurt.

Brienne winced. She didn’t mean to be rude. “I’m sorry, I just— I don’t understand.”

“What is there to understand?” Hyle laughed and seamlessly pulled her away from the dance floor. “I like you. A lot. So let’s get out of here.”

Brienne didn’t want to go out. Brienne wanted to go to bed. “No, I’m all right,” she said, pushing him aside. 

“Don’t you like me?” he asked.

Perhaps it was the alcohol that made her shrug or perhaps she was just tired of lying and pretending, but shrug she did. 

Hyle’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“I don’t know you well enough to think anything of you,” Brienne replied.

“Are you fu-“

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence, Mr. Hunt,” Jaime cheerfully said. He appeared next to Brienne almost as if she called for his assistance. _But I didn’t_ , she reminded herself, _I can take care of me. “_ Now, Brienne, would you like to go for a walk?”

Despite Brienne’s reminders to herself, she quite cheerfully said yes and grabbed onto Jaime’s arm, enjoying the look of surprise and confusion on Hyle’s face.

* * *

Jaime led her to an empty antechamber that adjoined the ballroom. Unlike the hallway, Brienne could hear almost nothing of the dying ball. He laughed and let her go when they arrived. “Did you see his face?” he asked, marveling. “Ah, he’s such an asshole.”

Brienne nodded, agreeing. “But, um, why did you do it?”

Jaime blinked and looked at her with the same gaze that had haunted her the whole night. Oh, why had she asked such a stupid question. He hadn’t even responded yet!

“I just mean,” Brienne quickly followed up. “How did you know he was bothering me?”

Jaime moved closer to her and it took every “Because he’s the asshole who just came up and kissed you. The one who made you uncomfortable here.”

“That was the corset,” Brienne said and Jaime laughed. It was a wonderful laugh. She wanted to hear it again.

“I didn’t realize you were funny, Miss Knight,” he said, somehow making her fake name sound sexy. Sexy and Brienne didn’t mix. 

“I can be,” Brienne said, her mouth dry as he grabbed her hand. He turned it over and kissed the palm. 

Her insides melted. Jaime let go of her hand and his smile lit up his face. _He was so beautiful_. It frightened Brienne.

“I don’t know who I was before I met you,” he confessed. Brienne’s heart began to beat faster than it had before, and it had already been beating quite quickly when he pulled her into the antechamber. _He can’t mean what he’s saying_ , she thought.

“I don’t understand,” was all she managed to say before he kissed her. This time, his mouth was on her own - his tongue edging her bottom lip.

She pushed him off immediately. _Not another Hyle. Please, not another Hyle._ “What are you doing?” she asked, although it came off more like a demand. She sounded like a man, not a lady. Not a heroine. 

_Not anything like Elizabeth Bennet._

Jaime’s eyes flickered with something. It looked almost like uncertainty but that couldn’t have been it. _He was Jaime._ “I love you,” he said, his voice low. 

Was she the prey or the predator? From the way he looked at her, it was as if she hunted him down — _was he insane?_

She voiced her thoughts. “Are you crazy?” she hissed. “You’re an actor!”

“So? Are actors incapable of real feelings? Is that your argument?” he asked, his voice rising. “And you know I’m not really a real actor — you know why I’m here —“

“Shh! Shut up,” Brienne said, her head swimming again. “You’re too loud! Everyone is going to come in here.”

“So what?” Jaime smiled. “So what if they come in here and see me kiss you. Really kiss you. Better than that Hyle.”

Brienne knew it. “I knew it! This isn’t real at all. I’m just a — joke.” She was almost relieved. The thought that he could love her was too crazy, insane, _ludicrous_ ** _,_** to be real. It had to have been a joke. It had to be another bet like the one from her first ever kiss.

But as she looked into his eyes, she faltered in her belief. He looked… angry. 

“You’re not a joke,” he thundered, low and, _God help her_ , sexy.

She almost wanted him to kiss her again, but before she or he could act on it, Sansa walked into the room.

The room, which had been dark and foreboding like a Bronte novel, was now filled with the sunshine of Sansa’s smile. “Oh, did he confess to you, Brienne? Mr. Hart just did mine. We’re to be married within a fortnight.” Sansa giggled loudly enough for Brienne to know that her friend had partaken a bit too much of the wine and champagne.

Brienne nodded, unable to speak. _That was right, there was supposed to be a confession._ This was his confession. Just one that wasn’t in character. “That’s right, Sansa, I am now engaged to be married. To Mr. Lyons.”

Jaime looked angrier than he had before. “That isn’t what I said at all —“

“Goodnight, Mr. Lyons,” Brienne quickly interrupted before Sansa could notice the change in Jaime’s demeanor.

His green eyes flared in the darkness. “Fuck this.” And he shouldered his way past Brienne to the other room before Sansa could even register what he had said.

“Did he just curse at us?” Sansa asked after a very long minute.

“Yes.”

“What did we do to deserve that?” Sansa demanded, folding her hands on her hips. “That’s really quite rude. Shouldn’t we report him or give him a bad Yelp review or something.”

“No, he’s just…” Brienne didn’t know what Jaime was so she stopped and walked to the window, hoping that the lanterns lit outside could give her answers. 

Sansa sighed and joined her. “Oh, Brienne, men are the worst.”

Brienne was about to agree when she noticed a figure outside. “Maybe not all of them.”

“Did you really just say not all men?” Sansa asked with a high-pitched giggle. 

“I only said that because I see Podrick outside,” Brienne replied with a small smile. 

It was too dark to see Sansa’s face, but Brienne would bet her entire stupid, Regency wardrobe that Sansa’s face was the color of her hair. And not just because of the alcohol lighting up the poor girl’s pale cheeks. 

“Um, I’m going to go. Out there,” Sansa said, half stuttering through her words.

Brienne only smiled. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“Ok, well, I’ll see you in the morning then? Bright and early?” Sansa said, her gaze sticking on the window. On Podrick. 

“Goodnight, Miss Edwards,” Brienne said softly. “Have a good time with Podrick.” 

Brienne removed herself and headed towards the door that, not moments ago, Jaime had gone through… disappearing from her life forever.

She tried not to feel melancholy about this prospect and failed. She couldn’t imagine a reality without him pestering her. 

Or… _loving her?_   But he couldn’t love her.

A voice pierced through her self-pity. “Thank you, Brienne.” Sansa said, causing Brienne to turn back and face her friend. Sansa’s pale face glowed in the darkness. “I know this trip has been hard on you, but… thank you. _For everything._ I know I’ve said Jeyne was my best friend before, but now I know I am lucky enough to have two best friends. And they’re both the best people in the entire world.”

Brienne wasn’t sure whether to smile or to cry, so, instead, she nodded and watched her best friend leave the room. And then she followed her best friend out the door, hoping that tonight her sleep wouldn’t be haunted by dreams of Jaime’s eyes. 

Unfortunately, she was pretty sure she would always be haunted by him, his kiss… and his eyes.

Because _she loved him_... even if he didn't, in reality, love her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides*


	23. Day Twenty Two - Early Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa determines her next step.

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

_Rewind: Sansa and the Father-Daughter Dance_

Sansa was six years old when the country club they belonged to decided to host a father-daughter dance.

“It’ll be fun,” her mother coaxed while Sansa and her father exchanged incredulous looks. Sansa loved dancing and music and people, but she knew her father. Her father liked those things in his own home but outside of it?

Not so much.

“Ned,” her mother warned until finally Sansa’s father agreed with a troubled smile.

Sansa was very nervous that her father would mess up and step on her toes. He was so much bigger than her and she knew it would hurt. She clutched her silver gown while her father helped her out of the car, afraid that her father would embarrass them both.

She postponed dancing as long as possible, by talking to her best friend Jeyne and running away to the bathroom and eating as much of the free food as possible, but eventually, she had to dance.

Her father smiled at her and said, “It will be fun, Sansa, I promise” and she couldn’t say no.

The _Macarena_ blared through the speakers and since her father didn’t know the moves, she taught it to him, laughing as he kept messing up. She realized, while looking around, that everyone’s dads were messing up. Some gave up and left the dance floor, while others laughed, her father included.

“I love you,” she told her father at the end of the night, nearly asleep in his lap, exhausted from all the dancing.

Her father just kissed her forehead in reply.

* * *

 **_ Sansa - Austenland Day  _ ** **_22 - Early Morning_ **

The moon lit the scene the way Sansa had always imagined it, when she thought of the Grand Ball — the place where Cinderella met her Prince Charming.

But she was no Cinderella — she had a loving, supportive family rather than an awful one. And Podrick was no Prince Charming, but she suspected it was better that he wasn’t.

“Hello,” she greeted him, almost giggling. The wine had awoken her senses and she could feel the drifting wind sweeping under her dress.

Podrick looked surprised to see her. “Hello.”

“I’m leaving soon,” she said, moving towards him as confidently as she could manage. One wonderful thing about living in Austenland — she didn’t have to wear heels with this dress. It was nice to sway around on her feet without worrying about breaking an ankle. “Very soon.”

“Later today,” he reflected.

Sansa clutched her skirt. “Yes, I — I suppose it is after midnight.”

“You, um, look pretty.”

Sansa smiled. “You look nice too.”

“I probably need to help them clean up soon,” Podrick said, looking away from her.

“Stay?” Sansa asked, removing her hand from her skirt to reach his arm, which was surprisingly muscular. _Damn, how strong was he?_ “Please?”

She couldn’t tell if he blushed, despite the moonlight dancing on his face, but she did hear him say, “All right,” as he grabbed her hand.

Suddenly they were dancing around in a terrible version of the Waltz. “This is quite scandalous,” Sansa told him. “A lady dancing with a servant! And not only dancing... but dancing the waltz.”

“Is the waltz that bad?” Podrick asked, his brow furrowed.

Sansa leaned closer to him. “Highly sexual, you know.”

“How?”

“We’re a man and a woman, facing each other, our bodies shifted quite close together.”

“Ah-ah I-I see.”

Sansa placed her head on his chest, enjoying the way she could hear his heartbeat through his shirt. “I hope you won’t get in trouble for this.”

“Well, I can’t really.” Sansa could feel him swallow and looked up. She could spot the telltale signs of a beard growing on his face. She wondered how the scruff would feel against her own cheeks.

“Why not?” she asked.

“I, um, quit.”

Sansa stopped swaying with him in shock. Suddenly she felt very sober. “What?”

“Tyrion Lannister hired me back,” Podrick blushed. “He’s starting his own production company in Brighton.”

Sansa laughed. Brighton! Of course, Brighton! The place where Lydia Bennet ran off to marry Wickham, the boy completely unsuited for her. “And you’re going to go?”

“Yes,” Podrick said, avoiding her eyes.

Sansa stared at him. “Does that mean…?” She wasn’t even sure what she was asking. Was she asking to go along with him? Was she asking to kiss him? Was she asking to freaking marry him? God... maybe she was still drunk. “What’s your name?” she asked instead, hoping to change the topic. “Your real name.”

He smiled at the question and looked almost... _hopefully_ at her. “Podrick Payne.”

“I’m—“ Sansa felt a strange fluttering at the idea of saying who she really was to this man. “I’m Sansa Stark.”

His grip on her hand tightened and he leaned in. “Nice to meet you, Sansa Stark.”

She smiled at him. “Nice to meet you, Podrick Payne.”

“Do you like your job back home?” Podrick asked her, somehow managing to change the topic while leading her to a bench.

“No,” Sansa admitted, following Pod. “I don’t.”

“Would you leave it?”

Sansa blinked. Was he asking her to go with him? A smile fell on her face. “Yes.”

“I think I can get you a job there, even as an American,” he said and her heart swooped. “At Mr. Lannister’s production company.  I think he’d like you.”

“Do you like me?” Sansa asked.

He blushed furiously just as she was hoping. “Yes — of-of course! I...” he paused. “I really like you... Sansa.”

She was quite sure that she was as red as her hair now. The way he said her name! The way he looked at her while he said it! “Then I’ll quit too,” Sansa said. “I think working for a production company sounds much better.”

“You don’t even know what you’ll be doing,” Podrick said, sounding quite astonished, although he smiled too. His astonishment made her like him more.

“Anything is better than my old job,” Sansa told him cheerily. “And I’ll be with you, won’t I?”

Pod ducked his head. Sansa touched his shoulder. “I do truly like you a lot,” she told him.

He placed his hand over hers. “I like you too,” he said, his accent and her lack of sobriety making it quite difficult to understand him.

But she got the gist when he reached over and kissed her.

“My fake fiancé will be very upset about this development,” Sansa told him once he released her. But then she smiled at Pod, “But I don’t care much for him anyhow.”

Podrick smiled back, shyly. “Good. He’s not very nice.”

Sansa thought about how Harry proposed to her while dancing. It felt very public and crass to her but perhaps that was how he was told to do it. “How much of it is an act, I wonder?”

“Not enough.”

Sansa laughed and then kissed Podrick again for good measure. He reached up and removed the bobby pins from her hair while they kissed and so her hair fell apart. She looked like a mess but he told her she was beautiful. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell my family,” she said, after they took a break from kissing.

“We can call them now,” he replied. “There’s a phone in my room. It should only be around 8 pm  where you’re from.”

Sansa was pleased he remembered where she lived and was even more delighted at the idea of talking to her parents. She hadn’t realized how much she missed them until then. “I think I will!”

Podrick smiled again, in that shy way he did, and Sansa knew that she loved him. Perhaps it was a childish love that she’d outgrow in a year or two’s time, but for now, she did in fact love him. It felt better knowing this now than before, when she wanted to love him. Now it felt real and happy.

Now, if the happiness in his eyes was any indication, she knew _he loved her._

* * *

Convincing her parents of this, however, was a whole other matter. “Mom!” Sansa had to yell into the phone. “You always wanted me to do something I love and I’m going to do this! I’ll have to interview of course, but Podrick is going to let me stay at his apartment or flat or ah, whatever they call it here.”

Podrick was holding back a laugh and she grinned at him as her mother and father talked over one another in her left ear. “But, Sansa —“ her mom said, “are you sure this is a wise decision?”

Her father, on the other hand, seemed to understand. “You hated working for me,” he said, whenever her mother took a breath. “Try this out but call us if you need us for any reason. We hated not talking to you.”

Sansa hated not talking to them too and admitted it to them. “And, of course, I’ll be back for Robb’s wedding and all the different graduations! You’re my family. We’ll just need a better phone plan for international conversations.”

“Especially if Arya keeps touring,” her mother said. Sansa could almost imagine Catelyn Stark shaking her head is dismay. “You’re right though. I know you can do this, Sansa, just… be careful. And what is that boy’s name again?”

Sansa looked Podrick in the eye and smiled. “Podrick Payne.”

“Can you spell that for me?”

“Mom!”

“I need to do a background check.”

“Oh my God, Mom, trust me!”

“How can I trust you?! He’s an actor.”

Sansa laughed and grabbed Podrick’s hand, wishing her mother could actually meet him. “He’s not, Mom. I can promise you that.”

Podrick reached for the phone. Sansa covered the mouthpiece. “You want to talk to her?” she asked, surprised. None of her boyfriends ever liked meeting her parents.

“Yes,” he said, sounding almost assured. “I think they’ll like me more if they actually talk to me.”

Sansa supposed he was right and handed the phone off to him. He coughed before speaking and Sansa reached and grabbed his free hand, squeezing it. “Um, Mr. and Mrs. Stark? This is Podrick Payne, and-and, um, I-I like your daughter very much.”

Sansa desperately wished she could see her parents’ expressions now but decided to imagine their surprised faces instead. It was pretty delightful in her imagination.

But she suspected it was better in reality.

 _After all,_  she thought, watching Podrick fumble his words while speaking to her parents, _most things were._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next (and last!) chapter should be out this weekend. :)


	24. Day Twenty Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne figures out who she truly is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Women's March! I hope you all enjoy the last chapter of Austenland.

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

_Rewind: Brienne’s Father, BJA_

“You’ll marry someone good and kind, Brienne,” her father told her once when she was still a little girl.

Brienne was a child then but still old enough to know the cruelties of mankind, old enough to understand the prickly insults children threw at her on the playground, so she tearfully asked him. “How do you know?”

Her father kissed the top of her head. “Because you’re a smart girl. You wouldn’t pick anyone that wasn’t worthy of you. You’re too much like your mother to do that.”

* * *

**_ Brienne - Austenland Day  _ ** **_22_ **

Brienne awoke with a feeling that she had lost something. _“What did I do?”_ she mumbled to herself, remembering how angry _he_ was when he left her. Was he just angry that he messed up with a client… or did he…?

 _No, he didn’t,_ she decided while packing up her bags and throwing on a t-shirt. It was much easier for her to think he didn’t because what would happen if he did? He’d leave her for someone else better. His own cousin, perhaps. Someone more beautiful, someone who matched him.

Brienne tried not to think of the times he made her laugh. Tried not to think of the kitchen where he flirted out-of-character, tried not to remember how he showed her his prosthetic hand, or how he confessed his true life story to her. She folded her clothes methodically instead, thinking of anything else but _that._ Thinking of anything but how his eyes would always trace her back anytime she walked into a room.

“Knock, knock!” Sansa said cheerily, bursting Brienne’s door open. Brienne blinked at her intruder who was grinning wildly. “I have news, Brienne!”

Brienne didn’t have a moment to respond before Sansa quickly explained (her grin unceasing) that she was _quite attached_ to Podrick and had no inclination to leave him alone in Great Britain.  “I don’t know if it’s _true love,_ ” Sansa said, moving her hands to make quotation marks around _true love._ Brienne stared, wondering what happened to the girl who swooned over Disney princes. “But I know I want to try to figure it out with Pod. He’s… the best person I’ve ever met. Uh, that is,” Sansa blushed, “besides you, of course.”

“I’m just so surprised,” Brienne blurted. “You didn’t say anything about this last night.”

“Well,” Sansa drawled. “He asked me later, after I left you to find him. He asked me to stay. He has a new job in Brighton, I know funny right, considering Lydia.” Sansa laughed and shook her head, “But he’s working with Tyrion Lannister’s production company. They bought new facilities there and Pod is going to help out. He might even be able to help me get a job there! He thinks Tyrion will really like me.”

“But your parents…”

Sansa’s smile only grew. “That’s just it, I called them as soon as I decided and they were actually happy for me. They almost sounded relieved to tell you the truth.” Sansa’s laugh was light and airy. Brienne had never heard it like that before. _What had Sansa been carrying inside her before all of this?_ “I’m just so happy, Brienne.”

“I’m going on alone then?”

Sansa’s smile shrunk. “For now,” she said, hesitating. “I will be back though, my tourist visa isn’t for much longer, as you know.”

“Six months is pretty long, Sansa.”

Sansa sighed. “I guess, but I should really go back before then, just to get my things at the very least. Robb’s wedding is coming up soon too. And, well by then, hopefully, I’ll be back here with a job.”

“Are you going to live with Podrick then?”

“For now,” Sansa replied, “but not permanently. _Not yet._ I want to have a normal relationship with him outside of all this.” Sansa gestured at the Regency ballgown she still wore. Brienne wondered if Sansa fell asleep in it or if she never fell asleep at all, too excited about the possibility of tomorrow. “So we’re going to start slow... once I get myself together in any case.”

Brienne swallowed her worries. “I’m really happy for you, Sansa,” she said.

Sansa engulfed her into a hug before Brienne could stop her. “I’m so glad, Brienne! You’re going to have to visit me all the time and when you’re not visiting me, I’ll have to visit you!”

Brienne patted Sansa’s back. “I’ll try.”

Sansa smiled again as she pulled away. “But I suppose this is it for now. You look all ready to enter the real world again. It’s almost weird seeing you in a t-shirt and jeans.”

Brienne frowned. “To be honest, I’m much more comfortable in this than those dresses.”

“Oh, I know _exactly_ what you mean.”

* * *

Lady Olenna’s office was the next obstacle on Brienne’s list. Each client was required to go through an ‘exit interview’ so they could adjust the next vacationer’s story. Brienne suspected a lot of adjusting would go into Austenland after this trip.

Lady Olenna greeted Brienne as she always did: with a witty quip and a dashing smile eerily reminiscent of her granddaughter’s. “Sit, sit,” she said once she finished grinning at her own joke. “You are much too tall to stand. I will break my neck looking up at you.”

Brienne did as Lady Olenna bid, sitting in front of the desk, watching as Lady Olenna flipped through some files.

“It’s been an interesting excursion here?” Lady Olenna asked in a way that meant she wasn’t asking. “Did you enjoy your romance?”

Brienne brushed aside thoughts of Jaime and tried not to remember his kiss. “I thought — I thought the actors weren’t supposed to kiss us.”

Lady Olenna blinked. ‘They’re not supposed to but oftentimes it happens.” She sighed. “Put people in a room together and something will usually happen.”

Brienne crinkled her nose. That was not her usual life experience. Lady Olenna continued, “But other than that, Miss Tarth,” Brienne nearly jumped at the use of her real surname but Lady Olenna kept reading her file, “did you enjoy your time with Hyle? I know his character is a stablehand but I thought you’d appreciate someone charming and fun and kind based on your questionnaire. He is all that even if his character is not wealthy.”

“What?” _Hyle?_ Something in Brienne broke while Lady Olenna’s brow furrowed.

“You were assigned to Hyle. I know you danced with him. Did he not propose?”

“No, he didn’t!” Brienne said, but then remembered how he asked her to run away from the party with him. Maybe he meant to fake propose there but… _wait._ “But! But!” Brienne spluttered, anger coursing through her veins. “He told me he wasn’t an actor.”

For a moment, all that could be heard in the tiny office was Brienne’s angry chest breathing. Every other noise was diminished.

And then Lady Olenna blinked. “That can’t be true,” she said, shuffling papers around on her desk.

“Why not?”

“He’s an actor. He knows he’s not allowed to pretend he is not. It is one of the rules here. I have made it very clear that such a thing cannot happen. _It is against the rules_.”

“But he did,” Brienne pleaded. “I swear he did.”

Lady Olenna frowned and stopped moving. “I believe you. I’m just trying to determine how best to humiliate him. Ah, well, I can save that for another day, I suppose. Margaery is very good with coming up with creative punishments. I hope you enjoyed your trip even with your designated Austen hero being an absolute idiot. Or a Wickham, whichever insult you prefer best.”

“But that was a guaranteed part of the package,” Brienne said, dismayed.

Lady Olenna smiled. “It was.”

Brienne straightened her back and stared right into Lady Olenna’s eyes, trying to pretend she wasn’t frightened. “I want my money back.”

“It’s not even your money,” Lady Olenna said, amusement creasing her features.

Brienne only stared at her.

Lady Olenna laughed, slapping her hands together in delight. “Oh, I was wondering when you’d grow a backbone. I’ll reroute the money back to your friend’s account. I don’t mind losing it. Keep the regency dresses too, if you’d like. We typically keep them afterward as backups for ladies, but I doubt anyone your size will lumber their way here.”

Brienne flushed but thanked her, not sure what else to do other than ask Lady Olenna for a receipt.

“You are much smarter than you look, you know,” Lady Olenna said cheerily, printing out a slip of paper and handing it to her. “You can tell whoever you work for that you deserve a promotion. Or if you’re ever so inclined, you could come back and work here,” she added with a wink.

Brienne frowned. “No.”

Lady Olenna laughed. “Can’t blame you for that, although we do have delightful benefits as I’m sure Podrick has mentioned, well, before he quit.”

Brienne blanched and Lady Olenna sighed. “You and your friend really turned this place upside down, you know? Margaery and I will have to discuss our stories and make them more entertaining so the actors and the guests stop wandering off-script.”

As Brienne got up, the receipt slip hidden in her fist, Lady Olenna spoke again. “Who did you think your guaranteed Austen ending was then? If you didn’t think it was Hyle?”

Jaime’s face swarmed in front of her eyes but she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Lady Olenna’s eyes crinkled in a way that would have looked kind on another’s face. But on Lady Olenna's it looked almost diabolical. “You shouldn’t lie to little old ladies.”

“Jaime confessed to me,” Brienne said, feeling buoyed by the surprised look on Lady Olenna’s face. _There, see, I deserved better than Hyle._ “So I suppose I thought it was him.”

Lady Olenna looked at her curiously. “What did you do when he confessed?”

Brienne didn’t know what to say, but Lady Olenna understood. “Ah, I see. Well, I suppose I shall have to deal with that soon enough. The lion doesn’t do well when his pride has been hurt — I should know that well enough.” Lady Olenna smiled and Brienne saw Margaery in it. “After all, I’m dating his father and his pride is worse than Jaime’s.”

Brienne blinked. “You’re what?”

“Dating his father. I swear, always date younger men. They’re much more fun.”

“What?” Brienne asked again, horrified.

Lady Olenna laughed outright at Brienne’s expression. “Go on, Brienne. Have a good flight and, for once in your life, enjoy yourself. For heaven’s sake, order some alcohol to get you through the flight. It always helps _me_.”

* * *

Brienne found Walda kissing Margaery goodbye before they both entered the car ordered to take them away from Highgarden. It was rather a chaste kiss, especially compared to the one Brienne had witnessed in the library. Margaery winked at Brienne, but said nothing else about it, while Walda chatted on about other things as she and Brienne entered the old-fashioned sedan that would lead them away to the small cottage that was the gatekeeper to Austenland.

Brienne stopped listening half-way through the ride there but was suddenly surprised by the words “ _My husband —_ “ as they exited the vehicle.

She was shocked. “You’re married?! But what about you and Margaery?”

Walda shrugged before waving at a man who was about ten feet away, leaning against another car. “It’s an open marriage.”

Brienne’s jaw wasn’t able to close. “WHAT?”

“Mostly for me, Roose-y doesn’t like other women… or men. But he likes it when I’m satisfied.” Walda lasciviously winked at Brienne, before blowing her husband a kiss. He caught it and then blew one back, although he looked  _quite_ annoyed about the gesture.

“ _Oh my God_ ,” was all Brienne could manage after witnessing that sight.

Walda laughed and hugged Brienne goodbye — but not before whispering into Brienne’s ear, “Let me know if you think Sansa would be into it.”

“But she just got with Podrick!”

“Oh yeah, him.” Walda’s frown was short-lived. “Well, he can join too, he’s cute.”

Brienne was very glad when Walda’s husband waved Walda over to his side (looking very impatient) because Brienne had no idea what to say to _that._

“Bye, Brienne! You have my email right? We can write to each other! Like we’re still living in the Regency Era! Except with EMAILS!” Walda called out as she joined her husband, who opened the car door for his wife.

Brienne waved back but really hoped those emails would have absolutely zero sexy stories involved. Brienne wasn’t sure her poor heart could take another salacious bit of gossip. First Lady Olenna with Jaime’s Father and now this!

She just wanted to go home.

Although when she finally reached the airport, she began to wish for some company on the way home. While salacious gossip was definitely more than she could handle at the moment, she did want someone there to keep her company.

Her wish was granted. Jaime Lannister was sitting right next to her assigned seat.

And ( _of course_ ) he got the window seat.

Brienne wanted to gape or yell or cry or hit him but just sat down next to him, unwilling to be arrested by airport security or be featured on a viral video. She had so much emotion flowing through her that all of her nerve endings felt as if they had disappeared. She couldn’t feel anything but the thrum of her heartbeat as she busied herself with the seatbelt.

“So, aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here? Or perhaps just how I knew you’d be here?” he asked without looking at her, his voice low and, God help her, _sexy_ . How did he do that? How did he make his voice so attractive? Her voice was always stupidly gruff sounding while he sounded like some, well, some hot British guy… which, she supposed, _he was._

Brienne debated about demanding an answer from him or not saying anything at all and settled on the latter, too afraid that her voice would either squeak or… she’d do something stupid.

“I didn’t lie before,” he said, now turning to her, obviously frustrated that she didn’t say anything. He was so easy to provoke. Just don’t speak for a few seconds and he’d erupt.

Brienne was extremely grateful that it seemed as if they didn't have anyone else sitting in their row as it would make this entire conversation even more awkward. But also extremely vexed because that meant she had to actually deal with Jaime.

His jade eyes (oh no, she sounded like a romance novel — they were only green! _A beautiful, lovely shade of green_ ) focused on her nose, as if he was willing her to turn her head to face him straight on, and, _damn him_ , but it worked.

She looked right at him, struck by how the light from sun outside the airplane window glided over his hair, almost making it look like he had a halo.

When he really should have devil horns.

“What do you want from me?” she hissed, trying to be quiet so they wouldn’t draw the attention of anyone else on the plane.

“I want you.”

The nerve endings that she thought had died still had some life in them after all for Brienne could feel herself flame up. Despite everything that had happened, she still wanted to kiss him. She wished she had hand lotion or wipes to rub away this feeling.

“No, you don’t,” she said, looking away from him again, willing her heart to slow down. “You were doing your job.”

Jaime laughed at her but it held no malice. “No, Hyle was doing his. I suppose I was doing mine, but not with you, I was doing it with Walda.”

“Walda?” Brienne was confused and had to look back at him, despite the risks. His eyes were so green. “But you proposed to me!”

“I didn’t propose,” he corrected her, knocking his knuckle into her chin lightly. His smile was beatific. “I told you I loved you.”

“You can’t love me.”

“Why not? Should I pull a Mr. Darcy and list all your faults? I’d rather not, if I’m honest, he almost didn’t recover from that dumb mistake.”

Brienne blushed. “You don’t know me well enough.”

“Sometimes you can know someone in three weeks better than you can know someone in a lifetime.”

Something about his tone reminded Brienne of his cousin. “But don’t you love _her_ —“

His gaze hardened. “I did. And maybe I always will. But I choose you. Only you.” His left hand reached for hers and she let him hold it. He raised her hand until it met his mouth and peppered a series of kisses from her pinky to her wrist back up to her middle finger, which he promptly placed into his mouth.

It was then that Brienne remembered where they were. “Jaime!” she reprimanded, trying not to moan, pulling her finger out from his mouth. Her entire body felt as it was being boiled alive, and it wasn’t just the lack of air conditioning on the plane as they sat on the tarmac.

Jaime allowed her release but grinned at her, looking almost smug. “So, what do you say? Want to join the mile high club?”

“No,” she said, schooling her face into a placid expression. The kind of expression that always made others think that she was slow.

Something in his eyes flickered and he thread his hand in her hair, his fingers dancing along her scalp. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I bought the other seat too. The one beside yours.”

“We’re not having sex on a plane.”

His smile was heavenly. “If you say so, wench.”

“Idiot.”

His laugh stopped when she reached down… and kissed him.

Brienne wondered, as they pulled their lips apart, and held hands instead, if Jane Austen would have made a man like Jaime Lannister a hero. He didn’t fit the typical billing, to be sure.

As Jaime smiled at her, his lips red and bruised from her kiss, Brienne decided she didn’t care. She didn’t need a hero. _I’m my own heroine._

And, perhaps, even Jaime’s heroine. “I love you,” he promised, thumbing her nose. “More than any person should be allowed to love.”

“You’re being very cheesy,” she scolded, but the grin escaped her before the sentence was finished.

And so Jaime leaned over and kissed her again with a smile of his own and he kissed her so well that Brienne truly hoped he’d be kissing her like this for the rest of their lives. By the way Jaime looked at her after he released her from his grasp as if she was the moon and the stars and the sun wrapped up into one human being ( _do I look at him like this?_ ), it seemed as if her wish would be granted. She supposed she should have been frightened by the possibility, but instead she felt steady for the first time since she had landed in Jane Austen’s country.

“I love you,” he said again, looking more delighted than the first time he had said it. “And I’m just letting you know now, that we will be eloping when we marry.”

“Who said I’ll marry you?” she asked, as the poor flight attendants began the safety instructions. She could feel the engine beneath her seat start to gear themselves for flight. It somehow made staring into Jaime’s eyes even more exciting and breathless.

Jaime grabbed her left hand and kissed every individual knuckle with such gentleness that Brienne wondered why she hadn’t melted. “I’m sure I can persuade you.”

She tried not to smile. “I suppose I’ll have to visit your very large house first.”

“Oh, I can show you my very large house. And I mean that in every way you can infer that sentence,” he said, staring at her. His expression was indecipherable — no man had ever looked at Brienne like that. It felt threatening and sensual all at once.

“I see,” was all she was able to croak out which caused Jaime to laugh, in a quiet way that fit him better than any of his mean, raucous laughter.

“This is going to be a wonderful ride,” he said.

Brienne could only wonder if he meant the airplane or if he meant their _life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me. I know the posting schedule was bizarre at times due to real life circumstances and I appreciate everyone's patience about it.
> 
> I hope you loved the ending and the story and the way I portrayed the characters. I hope you had fun reading about their misadventures in Austenland and based on comments it seems like most of you did. Some of you even started reading Jane Austen because of this story and that has been the most touching part of this experience for me. Thank you guys for loving the story enough to do that.


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